


Particular Peculiarity

by saavik13



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saavik13/pseuds/saavik13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How high is your regard for me, Watson?” He asked abruptly, his eyes still trained on the fire.  “If I were to confess my darkest secret would you leave? Would you abandon me here to my melancholy?”</p><p>A case forces Holmes to reveal the truth to Watson and risks both their reputations and their liberty.  Just how understanding is John Watson?</p><p>Can be read as either ACD or Granada.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> When I picture Holmes and Watson, I see the Granada Television version, with Jeremy Brett as Holmes and Edward Hardwicke as Watson (2nd man to play the doctor in the series, but the one that stuck with me.) The mannerisms, interactions, and dialog I'm using is based on the extraordinary performances both men gave, in particular the edge and energy Brett brought to Holmes. I've tried to keep it compliant with the original canon, but I thought it worth noting that when I write, I'm visualizing them. 
> 
> I have grounded this story in a rather frightening amount of background research in an effort to make it as true to the time period as I can. I'm sure it's not perfect and I would welcome any comments or corrections to improve the authenticity. I've been working on it for two years and I finally just decided that I had to start posting it or I'd never finish it. Maybe then I can clean off the bookshelf in my living room covered in papers and tomes on Victorian sexuality.

It never fails that when Holmes is engaged in one case that is quite drawn out, another arrives before the first is completely finished. Such was the circumstance when a letter arrived from a Mrs. White requesting an audience at our earliest convenience. Normally, Holmes would have dismissed the request in favor of the original case, but upon examination the letter proved most intriguing. The name was clearly an alias and delivered by a local lad who was told to wait upon our answer and return it to the lady without disclosing her location. He was paid handsomely for the task, but his long acquaintance with Holmes was enough for him to set aside his moral obligation to do as promised and to inform us that the lady in question was installed at the booksellers not two doors down from our rooms.

For a moment, Holmes looked torn, his eyes flittering between the mysterious letter in hand and the black leather case that contained the details of our current case. However, I knew the instant that he pushed the leather across the table that we would be changing course. Our current case was a matter of some importance but little urgency and Holmes had all but solved it. A telegraph or two to Devonshire and the matter would be taken care of. The lure of a new mystery was too much to resist when the last had proven little challenge to his intellect.

The lad was sent off with a missive requesting the lady come immediately. During the wait, Holmes quickly scribbled off the first of the telegraphs and sent Mrs. Hudson off to see it delivered so it was I that opened the door to our secretive guest.

The lady was, pardon my bluntness, very unremarkable. In her appearance, she was utterly without note. Her dress was a common brown, as were her hair and eyes. The fabric of her arraignments was not poor nor of great quality. Her hat was not new nor was it old. I fear that had she left our door in that instant the great city of London would have swallowed her entirely for not even a pickpocket would have given her a second look. It was perhaps this very trait that made Holmes sit forward and eye her with the intense scrutiny I normally saw reserved for his experiments. 

For her part, she bore his attention without complaint and in fact gave it little notice. She spoke not a word as she took a seat across from Holmes, lowering herself somewhat stiffly onto the divan. Holmes raised an eyebrow at this and regarded her coldly.

“What, pray tell, brings you to my door, madam?” He asked hurriedly, his hand motioning for her to be quick in her answer.

The woman looked us both over carefully before setting her handbag next to her and slowly removed her gloves, clearly not at all intimidated by my companion’s behavior. “I require the guarantee of your discretion, and that of Dr. Watson.” Her voice was unwavering with a confidence I was unused to hearing from a woman of her age and apparent social standing.

“Of course.” Holmes’ mouth twitched. “Now, pray get on with your tale of woe.”

“It not so much my tale, Mr. Holmes, as my brother’s.” The woman closed her eyes briefly and let out a long sigh. “Today is the first day I have gone without the arraignments of mourning since his death three weeks past.”

“You cared little for him than, to abandon the trappings of mourning so quickly?” Holmes asked.

She shook her head. “Not in the least. But a woman in deep mourning is quite noticeable on the street and I wished to be as unnoticeable as possible.”

“I had gathered as much. Such an unremarkable appearance could not be on accident.”

She smiled softly. “Yes, I assumed my attempts at deception would be pointless with you, Mr. Holmes, but I had hoped they would cause you enough curiosity that you would grant me an audience. The boy was indeed known to you?”

“Of course, but anyone that has followed Watson’s ramblings can tell you that I keep the street children well paid for their troubles.” Holmes looked her over again carefully head to foot. “You are married, with at least one child - not an infant surely but neither is she grown. You are not wealthy by far but you are modestly comfortable. Your lack of finery is due more to a careful nature than any real financial austerity.”

“My daughter is ten next month.” She replied easily. “I see you noticed the crewel work on my handbag and recognized it as a child’s sampler put to some use. My age alone would be enough to tell you she could not be grown. But have you divined my purpose?”

“How can I when you have yet to inform me of any of the details? I need data, madam, data if I am to be of assistance!”

“Then data you shall have,” the woman paused and eyed my pencil and paper with clear distain, “if you can promise me that what I am about to tell you never sees the papers or is uttered to another living soul. There are lives at stake, Mr. Holmes, lives that you would destroy were this made public.”

“Go on.” Holmes nodded and I reluctantly put away my paper.

The woman looked down and away and for the first time I saw some hint of nervousness in her expression. “My brother passed three weeks ago,”

“As you have said.” Holmes interrupted “please get to the point.”

“My brother,” she insisted, her expression hardening, “passed three weeks ago in Africa. He worked for a shipping company as a minor clerk and had been sent there on business. He was only to be gone a little over two months, to deliver some paperwork and to come back again with the reply, but when he did not return as scheduled I knew some evil had befallen him. We had received a telegraph saying he’d arrived safely in Africa but not a word since. We hadn’t expected anything more but as time drew on we became increasingly concerned. My husband eventually called on the offices of the shipping company to inquire and they informed us that illness had struck the ship my brother was to return on. They were only three days out when the first crewman became ill. They made port at the first opportunity and the ship was placed under quarantine. They promised to keep us apprized of any news. The next day they sent a man to tell me my brother, along with a large number of the crew, was dead from yellow fever.”

“I am so sorry.” I said softly. “Such a terrible and unexpected loss.”

The woman nodded and blinked slowly, valiantly holding back her tears. “Yes, it was unexpected. But the worse is not yet told, Dr. Watson. My brother had on his person a collection of letters that had been written over the years between he and his lover. I believe he took them on the voyage to read over in his lover’s absence, to make the time pass more quickly. I would not be concerned had his body been returned and I could have retrieved the letters, but the ship, and all those who perished, were burned to stop the spread of contamination. I thought these letters destroyed with him, but yesterday a man came to the house and said he had the letters and if we did not pay him 500 pounds he would turn them over to the authorities.”

“Why would the authorities care for love letters? Adultery is hardly a crime they care to investigate these days.” Holmes shifted in his chair, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose.

“Because my brother’s lover was a man.” 

Holmes sat straight in his chair and I could not help but stare at her in shock. “Surely you jest?” I managed to say after I had recovered.

“No.” The woman’s expression hardened once again. “So you see my concern, Mr. Holmes.”

“You wish to protect your brother’s reputation?”

“Not in the least. Reputation is of no concern to a dead man.” She huffed loudly. “No, Mr. Holmes, I wish to protect his lover.”

“So you agreed with his particular peculiarity?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Agreed? It is not my business to agree or to disagree with another man’s emotions. I loved my brother sir, and he loved a man. I do not believe it should be the providence of the law what two consenting adults choose to do with their time or their affections so long as none are harmed by them. And none have been.”

“You care for this other man, your brother’s lover?”

“As if he too were my blood.” The woman stood up swiftly from the divan and paced to the far side of the room, her back turned to us. “I owe him my life, Mr. Holmes, and that of my daughter - a debt that cannot be easily repaid. He saved us out of his love for Richard and I accepted him, grew to love him as a brother and a friend. Had we the money to spare I would pay it, and more, to save his reputation. But I cannot raise such an amount and I fear this blackguard will not wait long to attempt to collect his fee. I came to you as quickly as I could.”

“But what does your husband say of this?” I asked, “He cannot approve of your brother’s behavior?”

The woman turned around to face me, her eyes locked on mine. “My husband is the man we speak of, doctor.”

“Interesting!” Holmes pronounced, standing up quickly and walking a circle around her. “You were with child out of wedlock, I take it, and your brother’s lover married you to save your reputation and give your child a name. You now feel some obligation to return this favor?”

The woman raised her chin, clearly defying the shame such a statement would normally illicit, her countenance that of unwavering determination of spirit. She did not remove her gaze from mine as she replied with a hard voice. “I was fifteen when our father’s close friend accosted me. My daughter was the result, yet no one would believe the nature of the circumstances, no one except Richard. As I am sure you both are well aware, such happenings are not uncommon but are never openly acknowledged, and generally blame is placed on the poor wretch that finds herself the victim rather than on the villain that has caused her unwilling disgrace. I knew at the time that Richard was particularly close to a gentleman friend that he’d gone to school with. When Richard brought Edwin to the house and the offer was made I did not hesitate to accept. By marring Edwin my child would not suffer the indignity of being publicly labeled a bastard, I could escape my family’s constant disapproval as well as the continued unwanted attentions of my father’s friend, and Richard and Edwin could live together under the same roof without the slightest hint of impropriety.”

“Hence why you do not employ any cleaning staff, seeing to the household entirely on your own. See, Watson, how she moves stiffly? You typically see such difficulty in maids that spend large amounts of time scrubbing on their knees, and her hands, see how they are chapped from time spent in water? She is clearly not so poor as to be unable to employ at least one household servant so the matter must be by choice.”

The woman finally took her gaze from mine to nod at Holmes as she turned and regained her seat. “Richard and Edwin roomed together and I kept a separate bedroom on the opposite side of the house with my daughter. We never wanted to take the chance of their discovery should we employ servants. The house is relatively small and I prefer to keep busy.”

Holmes frowned. “You take a great chance, exposing your brother and husband’s secret to two strangers.”

The woman gave another long sigh. “At this point, Mr. Holmes, it is a calculated risk. Either you help us and we retrieve my brother’s papers before this blackmailer can make them public and my husband is taken to court as a sodomite, or you yourself turn him in. If we do nothing, he faces prison or worse. You take this information to the police, he faces the same. The only hope we have to avoid that ghastly outcome is if you agree to help us.”

“But why have you come?” I asked softly, still in shock over her confession and the bluntness of her manor. “Why not your husband?”

“He does not know I am here.” Mrs. ‘White’ blinked rapidly, a small tear forming at the corner of her eye. “When news of Richard came, Edwin was inconsolable. His health is not what it once was, Doctor, and I’m afraid the shock of being blackmailed might well spell his end. I was the one to speak to the blackmailer. I alone know of his threat. Edwin’s doctor recommended he be sent to the country to recover and I did so last week. His sister married well and her husband has a small house in Yorkshire. Edwin is there, thank God. The blackmailer seemed ignorant of this. At worst perhaps I can get Edwin on a ship to America, if all else fails. Although I fear his lungs would not be aided by the damp air at sea and thus make the voyage a dangerous one.”

“Ill advised I would say.”

“Watson, the man would likely prefer a long sea voyage over a trip before the magistrate, even if one spells certain death and the other only lengthy confinement at hard labor.” Holmes frowned. “You have yet to even tell us your real name.”

“Elizabeth St. Stephen. My brother was Richard Taylor.”

“And the shipping company?”

“Hart and Strom. They have offices in London.”

“Yes,” Holmes sprung from his seat to retrieve his missive on shipping companies from the bookcase. “Primarily a textile importer with some small investments in opium and a few other morally questionable items of some dubious legality- although that is not generally public knowledge.”

“Richard confessed that the company was not entirely legal in all their shipments.” Mrs. St. Stephen admitted. “Had Edwin not gone to their offices to complain I doubt they would have even bothered to inform us of Richard’s death.”

“That is likely the case. Shady characters seldom concern themselves with social niceties.”

“Will you take my case, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes smirked. “Of course.”

“And your fee?”

Holmes’ expression turned quite serious. “Mrs. St. Stephen, there is no fee I could charge you that would not cause you more distress. With your husband ill and your brother’s income now lost, you will no doubt find yourself glad for your natural frugality. I will not compound your situation by amounting debt on your household, debt accumulated due to the vulgarities of this blackmailer. It is he that will pay our fee, dear lady.”

This time tears did make a brief appearance in the corner of her eye. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.” She turned to me and took my hand, her moist eyes holding mine firmly. “And thank you, Dr. Watson.” She turned to her handbag and withdrew a calling card with her address and handed it to Holmes before retrieving her gloves and making her way in haste out of our sitting room and away.

I sat in my chair at loss for words for some moments after her departure. Holmes, for his part, did not seem at all fazed by her tale and was instead moving rapidly about the room scattering papers in his wake.

“Watson!” he flung several sheets of paper in my general direction. “I say, man, you act as though she’s dealt you a blow to the head. Gather yourself, old fellow, and help me find the paper from three weeks ago. I remember reading an announcement of her brother’s ship.”

I stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and began to hunt for the missing paper in the massive stacks of material that lay haphazardly placed around the sitting room. After several minutes of fruitless searching I could not contain myself any longer.

“Holmes, you act as though you are not in the least concerned with her confession!”

Holmes tilted his head to regard me with open curiosity, sitting down a folder of news clippings on the edge of the desk. “Why should I be? This is not the first case we have worked together where some impropriety has been committed and now there is concern for reputation or liberty. Why should the nature of this case be so distressing to you?”

“Why is it not to you?”

“I happen to believe that Mrs. St. Stephen is correct. It is not for the law to decide the morality of men when their infraction in no way harms society. If indeed their actions are a mortal sin then it is their souls that will pay the price.”

“If?” I sat down heavily on the divan. “If it is a sin?”

Holmes turned back to the desk and started rummaging again for the missing paper. “Yes, Watson, ‘if’. I am not so arrogant as to propose to know the mind of God. Men have, throughout history, made many claims as to His laws and His wishes, and in nearly every case it is man’s laws and man’s wishes that they impose. God, Watson, is a remote thing, if he exists at all. I prefer the logic I can see before me. And of all the crimes that plague London, sodomy is of the least concern to me except as means for blackmail or extortion. It does not steal food from the mouths of hungry children, it does not bring death early to the unsuspecting. It does not fling mother’s hungry into the gutter and it does not rob men of their good sense in any greater measure than attraction to the fairer sex. It is a victimless crime, Watson, and one I suspect will someday be stricken from the code.”

“At least it is no longer a capital offense. Perhaps if it were treated as an illness there would be less opportunity for such blackmail.”

“Illness?” Holmes kept his back turned but I could hear the disapproval in his voice. “While I would often call love an affliction I would not think it so different from the affection held between a man and a woman.”

“But it is unnatural!”

“Really?” Holmes started to shift another stack of papers. “Perhaps it is nature’s way of curtailing population growth. Since sodomy is generally considered to be a crime of urban nature, it would be conceivable that the large numbers of living souls pressed so closely together would trigger an environmental response limiting procreative efforts. You see it in animals, Watson. There is always some biological safeguard in place to keep numbers in check with resources. Perhaps this is humanity’s answer.”

I did not have a response to that, so I remained silent and when Holmes proclaimed victory, having found the missing paper tucked under a cold pot of tea on the sideboard, I simply nodded.

“As I thought. The ship was burned at sea and a list of crew, both dead and surviving, was published. If these letters were found and are now in England, it would stand to reason they are in the hands of one of the survivors.” Holmes smiled broadly and collapsed into his chair. “There now, Watson, we will make quick work of this.” While his words were jovial, I detected a hint of some hidden emotion beneath them.

“I doubt the blackmailer will pay our fee, as you suggested to the lady.” I frowned, knowing better than to press him for his underlying thoughts, instead choosing to focus on the more immediate concern that another case without payment would bring. “I realize, Holmes, that your bank account is not depleted as yet from that matter with the viscount, but if you continue to take cases without payment it soon will be.”

“And another equally imprudent royal will do something scandal worthy and I shall be paid just as handsomely. For every case we work for free there are five that will pay.” Holmes waved dismissively. “It is the thrill of the chase that matters, Watson.”

“I fail to see much thrill to this matter.” I pointed at the newspaper where it rested on his knee. “You have a full list of suspects there.”

“A list of false names.” Holmes leaned back, his eyes dancing. “That ship was not what it seemed. The lady was correct and the company in question is well known to the criminal underworld. I dare say her brother was likely not as wholesome as she would have us believe, his perversion aside. He must have known the company he kept. It is likely that none of the names of the living are true and a good number of the dead may also be alias.”

“The poor families.” I shook my head in grief. “To not know of your son’s death would be quite hard.”

“hmm.” Holmes made a small sound of dismissal. “That does leave us with the question of who exactly these three surviving men are. Out of a crew of twenty and a list of five passengers, only three returned alive.” Holmes bounded out of his chair, still clearly keeping some revelation private. “Do not wait up, Watson. I shall make a few inquires and it is unlikely I will return until morning.”

“Shall I accompany you?” I stood up to retrieve my coat and revolver but Holmes waved for me to retake my seat. I sighed at being once again kept in the dark as to his true action but never the less did as he bade me. 

“Not this time, my friend. I’m afraid that where I am going you would be quite conspicuous.” He offered, his voice hinting at an honest remorse and I offered a weak smile in return.

Holmes moved off into his rooms to change for his outing. I was expecting to see him return dressed for the dockyard or in his customary disguise as a beggar - or even for him to slip from his window as he was want to do. To my great shock, however, he emerged in his best evening dress, freshly shaved, and with his top hat brushed clean.

“Holmes, where the devil do you plan to go dressed like that?”

“Out.” He went to his desk and retrieved a good amount of coins. “I do not believe it would do your night’s rest well to know the details. I shan’t be in any danger, I assure you. This case does require a certain amount of discretion, Watson, and I must be careful where and how I make my inquires.” Holmes retrieved a pair of crisp white gloves from a drawer. “Of all the disguises I posses, I always find this one the most uncomfortable.” He complained as he pulled them on.

“I must admit I am somewhat surprised to see you so turned out.” I eyed his figure, clothed head to toe in what must have been the most expensive suit I had ever seen him appear in. “I was unaware you even owned such clothing.”

“It does occasionally make a rare appearance, when there is a necessity.” Holmes sighed. “I would much prefer to be spending the evening scurrying about the docks as I suppose you had thought I would be. But the trouble with this case is that the easy answer is unlikely to be the correct one. If one of the regular crew had known of Mr. St. Stephen’s deviation they would have made trouble for him in life and not waited for death to extort him. No, Watson, there is something else here afoot. Something more sinister than simple blackmail. After some consideration on the matter, I have come to suspect that the culprit was another passenger at best or perhaps even a stowaway.”

And with that Holmes was off, his voice calling for a handsome loudly from the street before I could raise my own to question him.


	2. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> “I must admit I am somewhat surprised to see you so turned out.” I eyed his figure, clothed head to toe in what must have been the most expensive suit I had ever seen him appear in. “I was unaware you even owned such clothing.”
> 
> “It does occasionally make a rare appearance, when there is a necessity.” Holmes sighed. “I would much prefer to be spending the evening scurrying about the docks as I suppose you had thought I would be. But the trouble with this case is that the easy answer is unlikely to be the correct one. If one of the regular crew had known of Mr. St. Stephen’s deviation they would have made trouble for him in life and not waited for death to extort him. No, Watson, there is something else here afoot. Something more sinister than simple blackmail. After some consideration on the matter, I have come to suspect that the culprit was another passenger at best or perhaps even a stowaway.”
> 
> And with that Holmes was off, his voice calling for a handsome loudly from the street before I could raise my own to question him.

Despite his warning, I did sit up waiting for his return. Wherever Holmes went trouble was always two steps behind and if he should return with an injury I wanted to be at the ready. Far too often he would return late and tend his wounds in silence not wishing to wake me before morning. If this case was as complicated as he believed then I did not wish to take such a chance.

It was near dawn when I heard his key in the downstairs lock. His feet were heavy and slow on the stairs and when he opened the door to the sitting room I could see his face was unusually pale, almost feverish.

“Holmes?” I questioned softly. “What is the matter?”

“There are times, Watson, where I wish I were wrong in my conclusions.” Holmes looked up at me, his eyes holding a sadness that nearly stole my breath. “The matter is worse than I had first believed.” He slowly removed his jacket and let the black fabric fall carelessly to the floor, leaving him standing there in his starched shirtsleeves and waistcoat looking for all the world a ghost in his own rooms. “I am weary of these intrigues, my friend.”

“What have you discovered?” I asked gently, poring him a glass of port as he took up his chair by the fire. 

He took the glass unsteadily from my hand but did not drink it. “Richard Taylor was murdered before the ship left Africa, indeed it is likely he was dead within hours of his arrival. The telegraph was a ploy to keep his family from realizing something was amiss and raising the alarm; thus giving the murderer time to plan his return to England and how he would go about his blackmail.”

“But how do you know this?”

“I dined with his murderer.” Holmes took a long sip from his glass, the tremor in his arm enough to cause the glass to clink alarmingly against his teeth. “And the law cannot touch him.”

I waited for Holmes to continue but he remained silent, his eyes fixed on the fire in the grate. When it became clear he was unlikely to continue I retrieved his jacket from the floor and laid it carefully on the back of the divan. It smelled richly of incense and I noted a more substantial amount of coin in the pockets than when he had left.

“We played cards.” Holmes said softly. “He wasn’t very good. He never was.”

I nodded and took my seat again and Holmes shifted his chair slightly closer to mine. “I have a terrible choice to make.” Holmes turned his glass slowly, the amber liquid barely touched. “Do I run afoul of a law I believe is unjust, risking my own reputation and liberty, or do I let a murderer go free?”

“Holmes?”

“How high is your regard for me, Watson?” He asked abruptly, his eyes still trained on the fire. “If I were to confess my darkest secret would you leave? Would you abandon me here to my melancholy?”

“I doubt you have a secret so dark as to cause me to act so.” I answered swiftly. “This case bothers you.”

“Of course it does!” Holmes shouted, leaping from his chair and sending his glass crashing to the floor. “For the love of God, man, it does!”

I felt my throat tighten in realization but by force I managed to keep my voice level. “Holmes, as your friend, I implore you to explain.” I eyed his stiff back as he bent over his desk, his head bowed and his fingers clinched onto the edge. “I shan’t leave.” I promised, my voice going gruff despite my attempts at control. “No dark secret can change my great regard for you, my friend.”

Holmes nearly collapsed, the desk alone holding up his weight. I moved swiftly to stop him from falling to the floor, instead maneuvering him to rest upon the divan. His skin was feverish to the touch and when I pressed my fingers to his wrist his pulse fluttered alarmingly against my touch. I moved to retrieve my bag but Holmes’ hand shot out to stop me, his grip surprisingly strong. “It is nothing, Watson, nothing.” He sighed and let me go, his arm dropping down to rest on his chest. “An old fear I thought handled, that is all. And perhaps too much of my seven percent.”

I let the matter rest, instead lowering myself to the floor next to where he lay. I could see his heart still beating fast in the way the vein on his forehead throbbed and I did not wish to aggravate him further. “The matter can wait, Holmes.” I replied softly, my hand going to his, my paired fingers extended to remain in contact with his pulse. He gripped me tightly and turned his face away. I did not press him and slowly I felt his heart return to a more normal rate. “I wish you would desist from this madness.” I whispered softly. “One day you will kill yourself with this foolishness.”

“It helps me think, when all else fails.” He replied back, his head turning to look at the ceiling. “I did not take my kit with me and trusted the club’s provider to be correct in their dosage. I will not make that mistake again.”

“You are lucky you made it home.” I sighed and reached my free hand up to brush the hair from his forehead, checking that his fever had not increased. “I would have expected the reaction to be immediate if you were exposed during your outing.”

Holmes sighed. “It has happened before.” He let go of my hand. “If I forgo sleep for too long.”

“Or food.” I admonished. “You will work yourself into an early grave at this rate.”

Holmes made no comment, but struggled into a sitting position. I pushed him to lie back again and stood up myself. “I am going to the kitchen to find you something that will not aggravate your condition unduly.” I frowned down at him. “When I return you will eat and you will go directly to your bed. We can finish our discussion of this case when you are rested. You nearly overdosed yourself, Holmes.”

He nodded, appearing to take my criticism as truth for once, and I left him there to do as I had stated. The house was quiet, Mrs. Hudson long since retired to her rooms, and I found the kitchen cold and bereft in the early morning light. The realization of what Holmes’ secret must be ate at my nerves as I cut him a thin sandwich and poured a glass of buttermilk from the cold box. My hand shook as I returned the pitcher and I cursed my own sentimentality.

A wiser man would leave, I thought, as I brought the tray back up the stairs. But I had never claimed to be wise and the thought of leaving Holmes to his inevitable self-destruction made my stomach churn.

I found him exactly as I’d left him, laid out rather haphazardly on the divan. He sat up slowly at the sight of me and put out a feeble protest at the meager sandwich I forced upon him. When he’d eaten the majority of it, and drunk the entire glass of buttermilk despite his obvious aversion, I maneuvered him to his feet and towards his room. He protested that he did not need my assistance, that he was not an invalid, but his hands shook so dreadfully as he went for his buttons that he was forced by necessity to allow me to assist. 

There was an angry bruise on his inner arm from the needle but I made no comment. Holmes knew well my stance on such substances and another lecture would serve no purpose this night. I could see clearly the affects of long usage on him and I cursed my lack of attention to his habits. I should have seen how greatly he’d been depending on it of late and I had not. My powers of deduction were nowhere near his skill but my meager talents should have taken note.

He had lost even more color and his skin was damp to the touch by the time I had him changed into night dress. He made no protest as I wrapped the heavy blankets around him. He was asleep within moments. I retrieved my medical bag and moved my chair next to his bed and sat down to wait. I would not chance him having another episode. I had seen such things during my schooling and I knew without question that the drug was finally taking its toll on my friend’s constitution. It was well I did so, for several times his heart jumped alarmingly against my fingers as I checked his wrist and I was forced to give him more than one injection in an attempt to calm it.

Mrs. Hudson awoke me several hours later, her worried face looking between my open bag and Holmes with fear. I smiled softly to reassure her and accepted a cup of tea graciously. My back and leg were protesting at having spent a night in a chair, my neck aching as well from the odd angle it had fallen into. At her departure I stretched and felt nearly every joint give a loud groan of protest.

“Watson you sound like an old man.” Holmes muttered from his bed, his eyes blinking open, their bloodshot status giving testimony to his state.

“Should I provide you a mirror for comparison?” I raised an eyebrow. “I have seen better looking corpses pulled out of the Thames. In the future if you insist on poisoning yourself, at least make sure the damn stuff is of quality. I dare say you were given something off, Holmes, based on your reaction.”

“You may be right.” Holmes rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “While I will confess that I have, on occasion, had a palpitation or two attributable to the contents of my desk drawer, I have never had such a reaction as this.”

I frowned. “Let that serve as a lesson then.”

“Are you done?” He asked roughly.

“Hardly.” I snapped my bag shut and stood up, my back protesting at the sudden movement and I winced. “I would suggest you spend the day abed but I hardly think it likely you’ll listen.”

“We are on a case.”

“You are on a case.” I reached down and checked his pulse. Finding it normal I eyed him with open curiosity. “You have yet to tell me what transpired last night.”

Holmes seemed to shrink. “I spoke rather freely. I blame the euphoria of the drug.”

“You were hardly euphoric.” I sat back down in my chair. “Holmes, what the devil is going on?”

Holmes turned slightly away. “What have you deduced?”

“You said you knew the murderer. I suspect you recognized his name or his alias in the paper. You went to confront him.”

“You are half right.” Holmes reached for his water glass, his hand barely steady. “I did recognize a name but I did not intend to confront him. I simply wished to confirm that the man was indeed returned.”

I waited for Holmes to continue and when he did not I gave a loud sigh.

Holmes finally turned to look at me and I saw that while his heart seemed to have returned to its normal steady beat his face was as pale as before, if not more so. “Watson,” he hesitated and his gaze flickered to the doorway.

“Mrs. Hudson has gone out to the market. I heard the front door some minutes ago.” I responded. “I assure you we are alone.”

Holmes nodded. “Forgive my paranoia.”

“I imagine it is natural considering.” I stated flatly.

“Then you have guessed.”

“I have inferred but I do wish you would confirm or deny it.”

Holmes turned again to face away. “Yes, Watson, you now sit by the bedside of a confirmed degenerate.” He turned back, his mouth twisted in a hateful smile. “So, shall you take up your bag and leave me to my fate? Should I be expecting a call from Scotland Yard later today?”

“Only if Lestrard boggles another case.” I remained calmly seated and Holmes seemed visibly taken aback at my lack of reaction. “I’ve had the entire night to come to terms with it, Holmes. I’m hardly likely to become undone by your confession at this point.”

Holmes’ expression turned pensive. “You seemed less than inclined towards sympathy for the brother of our client.”

“I hold him no ill will, surly you realized that.” I frowned. “I am a doctor, Holmes, and I have seen my fair share of eccentricities. As you stated before, this hardly counts high on a list of offenses, at least in my book. I will confess that I am shocked by this turn of events, more so because of your legendary disdain for any and all forms of romantic attachment than any moral implications. Had any other man made such a confession, I will admit I would council him strongly against giving into this predilection but with you I have learned to choose my battles and, after careful deliberation, I have chosen to battle the demon in your Moroccan leather case over any of your other, numerous, deviances"

Holmes stared at me. “Watson, you are remarkable.”

“I am determined.” I glared at him and pointed behind me at his desk. “I have had enough of this, Holmes. You do not realize how close you were to dying last night! I am not sure if it was simply a reaction to a tainted drug, or long exposure, or some odd delayed overdose, but I thought for a moment your heart was about to fail. I will no longer stand idly by while you destroy yourself.”

Holmes smiled oddly before chuckling. “I confess to being a sodomite and you lecture me on my other little habit?”

“You are discrete enough the other isn’t a threat to your life or liberty. As I said, I choose my battles, and as your doctor I find your health to be of greater concern than the already questionable state of your soul.” I sighed. “While I do believe that there is a causal link between morality and health, in your case we’ll have to work around it.”

Holmes fumbled with his blankets, folding them across his lap. “I can’t say I disagree with your assessment of the situation but I must admit I had expected to wake to find you fled our rooms and quite possibly a priest or policeman here to berate me about my so called ‘indecencies’.”

“As if a priest would do you any good.” I frowned. “You take as much stock in the church as you do in astrology.”

Holmes smiled and leaned back. “So, good doctor, do you pronounce me fit for duty?”

“I pronounce you an invalid for at least the next forty-eight hours.” I took my seat again and reached for his wrist to check his pulse once again. “You’re still weak,” I chided him, letting his arm drop back to the blankets, the harsh red of the numerous puncture marks from my administration of various heart calming preparations the night before standing out against his pale skin and the white of the sheets. “I should nail your window shut and sit guard at your door and refuse to listen to your findings until then, but I doubt even that would be sufficient to keep you abed. So, tell me what happened last night and if you promise to keep quiet for the rest of the day and night I will, in good faith, act in your stead on this case - following your instructions as best I can - so that the good Mrs. St. Stephen can keep her husband out of gaol.”

Holmes eyed me suspiciously. “You would make such a bargain without even knowing what I would require of you? After making such a discovery as this one?”

“Don’t make me question my resolve.” I crossed my arms and looked at him sternly. “Now, on with it, old man.”

Holmes nodded and looked away. “I did recognize an alias on that list, Watson. An old acquaintance of mine, actually.” He paused, his hand nervously twitching where it rested on the blankets. “We were at university together and knew one another quite well - for a time.”

“You were lovers.” I added quietly and Holmes did not disagree. 

“We,” he continued, his voice a little higher than normal, “We parted agreeably when his family could no longer afford the tuition and he decided to try his luck abroad. He had a good mind but was not the most studious of fellows. I had learned his alias during one of the few times I consented to a night out instead of attending to our studies. The place we frequented catered to a certain clientele and he did not wish to risk his reputation by using his real name. A habit I must admit I quickly adopted.”

“I see.” I took a deep breath. “You went there tonight to see if he had returned?”

“No.” Holmes still would not look at me. “That establishment is long gone but I know of another, one with a more gentile yet similar bend. Samuel had always wanted to gain admittance but he did not have the money or the name at the time. If he had turned to crime and blackmail I thought it likely that he would have bought his way in by now, or at least attempted to do so. It was a singular wish of his. While I have long been a member, I rarely go there, especially now that you have popularized my abilities and my name. The risk is so much greater now, but if he was back in England I thought it the best place to begin looking for him.”

“And he was there.”

Holmes shivered slightly as a draft from the window blew over him and he brought his blanket up closer to his chin. “Yes. He is not the boy I knew, Watson. Oh, he’d always had a questionable bend to him, of that I will not lie, but I always thought him a decent fellow in a general sense. The man I dined with last night has become a thing of ugliness.” He turned to look at me, his dark eyes haunted. “He very nearly bragged about what he did to that young man, Watson. He said I should find it interesting since my business was the detection of crimes. He phrased it all as if it were a fictional tale and had I not already known the truth of it I might have believed him.”

I stayed silent waiting for him to continue and Holmes took a long moment to gather himself before he resumed his slow narrative.

“Samuel ran into Richard Taylor not an hour after he landed in Africa. Evidently our client’s brother was not a monogamous fellow and after his long journey he was interested in company of a particular sort and headed directly to an establishment well known for such.”

“Not hard to come by in certain areas.” I admitted softly, thinking of the tales I’d heard during my service. “I know such things are fairly common in the colonies. But how did he find one so quickly? They don’t generally advertise as I come to understand it.”

“We have ways, Watson.” Holmes answered softly. “As with all things underground there are always symbols or phrases - keys to find your way. With a few coins and a carefully dropped phrase a man can find someone willing to do about anything - be it Piccadilly Square or the Congo.” He reached for a glass of water and took a long drink. “Samuel knew by his clothing that Taylor was well-enough off to be of some use. Apparently the brother did not share his sister’s frugality and had a flare for more dramatic attire. It was easy to kill him and take his possessions. At first Samuel intended to simply sell the lot, as he had done before I gather, but he found the letters. Believing the family to be better off financially than they are, he decided to return to England and see what they would do to protect themselves. He went to the offices of the shipping company posing as Taylor. Since no one at the Africa office had ever met Taylor no one was the wiser, and thus he gained passage back to England without having to resort to his own savings. When the ship was struck by illness he dropped the pretense and gave his favorite alias when help arrived. He altered the ship’s passenger list, which was not hard to do since both the captain and first officers were dead, to make it look as if two men had come on board instead of one. When they burned the ship there was no scrutiny of bodies. So Richard Taylor was listed among the dead, and Anthony Bredidge - the man I know to in actuality be Samuel Moffit, among the living.”

Holmes closed his eyes. “He’d been blackmailing officers in Africa for years, seducing them and then extorting them. He’s a handsome fellow, I suppose, and he always was charming.”

“So now he intends to continue his machinations here, in London? The St. Stephens are only his first venture, and a small one - likely to gain funding so he can afford larger schemes?” I asked softly.

“With a much more connected crowd.” Holmes sighed. “The establishment he’s gained entrance to is popular with many whose names and titles you would recognize. He bribed his way in using ill gotten gains from his exploits in Africa. It helped that he looks far younger than he is and that handsome, willing, young men are actively recruited for membership. It gives the old grey hairs some sport and the younger men gain contacts and alliances - eventually moving up the ranks as it were.”

“Holmes, if he exposes this club...” I trialed off, a look of horror on my face.

He sighed and looked at me sadly. “He exposes me. I think that is why he told me his tale, Watson. He wants me to know what he’s capable of. He was warning me to stay away from him, to let him work. He’s likely a partner, someone else who is doing the blackmail. If he himself were to both gather the evidence and extort the victims the club is perfectly capable of taking care of the problem. Lestrade would likely be fishing him out of the river within a fortnight. But if they cannot locate the source of the leak, then they will have no choice but to pay any price.”

“How many men are we talking about, Holmes? And how well placed?”

Holmes sighed. “As I said, I rarely make an effort to appear there, at least not these days. I spent a good amount of time there as a youth, and I will admit that I occasionally gain from the contacts I made during that time, but it had been almost two years since I set foot on the grounds. At best I estimate they have an active membership of a hundred. There are no official membership lists of course and there is a good amount of turn over. We all use alias and code names and fees are paid using such. On any given night there may be twenty or so men dining or playing cards - or in private rooms.” He’s cheeks showed a faint hint of a blush. “As far as how well they are placed, let me say only that I am by no means a likely candidate for their circles, my family being lowly country squires. Had I not joined as a youth myself I doubt any amount of success at my current profession would have gained me entrance to their lofty company. As it stands, most of the truly elite rarely enter the common areas, instead keeping to the private rooms with only those they select for company joining them.”

“Exactly how ‘elite’?”

Holmes looked away again. “I personally know of at least two from the royal family who have been or are members and more than you care to think about from the House of Lords not to mention an Admiral or two and a good number of foreign diplomats and businessmen.”

“Good Lord!” I paled at the implication. “If this Samuel Moffit intends to extort members one after another the scandal might well become international.”

“Easily.” Holmes pushed his blankets back. “I must warn those I can.” He shook me off and stood shakily to his feet. “No, Watson, I cannot send you to do this. I have to get word to Mycroft as well.”

“What does your brother have to do with this?”

“Who do you think introduced me to the club? I have never been one to travel in such lofty circles - this being the one exception.” Holmes smirked at my shocked expression. “It is good our mother died so young. She would likely have been sorely disappointed in a lack of grandchildren to coddle.”

“Your brother was responsible for your admittance to this Hellenistic depravity?”

“He was responsible for my introduction to the man that pledged me in, yes.” Holmes splashed some water on his face. “While I have never been conventionally handsome, I was in my youth somewhat uninhibited and not as skinny as I am now. I made a good enough impression that despite my lack of title I found myself in their company. As I said, they do like to bring in young men from time to time - to keep things from stagnating. The benefits to the young man include lifelong membership, provided they remain discrete, and connections to many in Society. More than a few of our cases have come by way of these connections, I assure you.”

I did not know how to respond to that. The idea of a youthful Holmes exploiting himself in such a manner, and with so callous a regard, was disturbing. I stepped out to allow Holmes to dress and stood quietly by the door till he opened it again. He was in one of his better suits but his skin was still frighteningly pale and he remained standing only because of the firm grip he maintained on the dressing table edge.

“You cannot go out alone.” I insisted, taking his arm as he wavered slightly on his feet. “Sit down and eat some toast, man, before you fall over. Then I will accompany you on our excursion. I can sit in the cab and wait to pick you up off the pavement if nothing else.”

Holmes did not argue, sitting down to the breakfast table slowly. I took the teapot over to the fire to warm it slightly before pouring us both our morning share.

Holmes obediently ate his toast, albeit slowly, only glancing slightly at the morning paper. I said nothing, waiting for him to command me to stay behind, but when he made no move to do so I stood with some reluctance to tend to my own clothing and morning habitual. I expected to find him gone upon my return but to my surprise he was still in his seat waiting for me when I returned.

“Best take your bag, Watson. If you insist on following me, at least you can do so as my physician and as such bound by confidentiality. Hopefully that will be enough to keep them from hanging you.” Holmes gruffly bit out, grabbing his overcoat and hat with clear agitation.


	3. Family Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> “Best take your bag, Watson. If you insist on following me, at least you can do so as my physician and as such bound by confidentiality. Hopefully that will be enough to keep them from hanging you.” Holmes gruffly bit out, grabbing his overcoat and hat with clear agitation.

Our first stop was indeed his brother’s club. Mycroft seemed somewhat pleased to see his brother until he took stock of Holmes’ condition and the presence of my doctor’s bag. Holmes did not waste time, plainly stating the problem. Mycroft spent the majority of the conversation studying me, presumably trying to decide if I had good reason to keep Holmes’ confidence beyond my medical oath. A part of me bristled at that assumption but I knew from the moment I insisted on going with him that would be the price.

Holmes ended his explanation and slumped weakly back in his chair. Mycroft frowned deeply. “I will send word where it needs go, Sherlock, but you do realize what will happen to Moffit when the Club learns of his plan - and what Moffit will do to you if given a chance? And we have as yet no idea who his accomplice may be.”

“I know.” Holmes studied the fire in the mantel with intent. “Samuel will be killed and if he hears of their intent before they strike he will know it was I who gave them warning. He will go to the police or the paper and give evidence against me, even implicating himself, as revenge. The Club will still kill him, of course, but they will be unable and likely unwilling to help me. I will be ruined.”

“Dr. Watson with you.” Mycroft stated bluntly. “Oh, I know, the situation isn’t that way with you - that’s clear as day. But the papers and the police will be unlikely to believe that. They won’t be able to convict him, of course, since neither of you will admit to impropriety and there are no witnesses to such, but the damage will have been done.”

I stiffened in my chair but said nothing. I could feel Holmes watching me and eventually I turned my attention to him. “If the situation is as dire as you say, Holmes, than I have little choice in the matter. I was willing to die for Her Majesty in the wilds of Afghanistan, I suppose sacrificing one’s reputation is less dramatic than that. I can, after all, always retire to the Americas or some backwater to escape. There are plenty of places in the world where a surgeon is needed - reputation not required.”

“I would keep you out of this. You are innocent in all things, Watson.”

“Not in all things, Holmes, just this one.” I nervously checked the latch on my case. “You said we had more than one stop to make? If Mycroft is sending word than who else do we need warn? You look as though a good wind might spell the end of you.”

“One or two men that I have a more personal reason for wishing remain safe.” Holmes replied cryptically. “Mycroft hasn’t been near the Club in decades, his safety is already assured, but I needed him to send word to the right individuals whose acquaintance I do not know but his position with government affords him access too. For my part I must warn Julius and David. I owe them that much.”

I did not need to ask why Holmes felt the need to warn these men personally. We left Mycroft already drafting cryptic notes and headed out to one of the many rows of well off town houses on the other side of London. Our cab pulled up outside a rather impressive looking three story limestone with a little walled garden out front. As we were climbing down a nanny exited the side walk pushing a pram and with a little boy not more than four clutching at her skirts. They headed towards the park a block away. I looked at Holmes in shock.

“Most do not choose the solitary life I lead, Watson. They have obligations that my rather common birth and status as youngest son did not burden me with.” Holmes stated quietly. “Julius is quite a family man, I assure you, despite his peculiarities of company.”

Julius turned out to be Julius Bancroft Minorson, the wealthy youngest son of a well known Commander of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy and a banker by trade. I was glad that the day was a bank holiday and thus our quarry was so readily able to entertain our visitation. Mr. Minorson greeted Holmes warmly upon our entry to the house, leading us directly to his private office at the back of the home where he promptly started a warm fire and set Holmes down in front of it with a glass of brandy.

“I do say, old man, you look dreadful.” Minorson eyed my doctor’s bag, “but not so horrible as to need the constant aide of a physician. Hadn’t we best have this conversation in private?”

“No need. Watson’s fully aware of our past, Julius.” Holmes held his hands up to the fire. “I came to warn you. Samuel’s returned.”

“I heard.” Minorson cursed and sat down heavily in the opposite armchair leaving me to stand protectively behind Holmes. “David saw him at the Club a few nights past. Said he’s using his old alias again and pretended not to know David.”

“I don’t think he was expecting us to be there. After all, no matter how well regarded in our professions David and I may be, we are not gentry. Neither of us would be admitted now, if we had not been pledged as lads and while I was a member during our years at the college I never let on as such. I can’t imagine how much Samuel must have paid to get his invite.” Holmes sagged back in his chair. “I have a client he’s trying to blackmail. I recognized his old alias and I thought the most logical place to hunt for information on him was the Club, assuming he’d returned to England. He’s always flocked towards the higher elements in society and I thought perhaps someone there would have made his acquaintance or that he might have approached them entreating for membership. I was somewhat surprised to find he had already been successful.”

“Blackmail? You must jest, Sherlock.” Minorson looked aghast. “Samuel isn’t in a position to blackmail anyone over this issue. We could just as easily give evidence against him as he could against us.”

“Only if we knew it was Samuel. Until he saw David at the club I don’t think he expected anyone to make the connection. My arrival has likely made him even more apt to attack.”

“Sherlock,” Minorson took a shaky breath. “Who has he gone after? Anyone we know?”

“A young man with no connection to our group that I know of. He’s too young to have been at school with us and as far as I know he never set foot in the Club. The man in question is dead but his family is being extorted. Samuel’s plans for the Club are entirely separate.”

Minorson’s eyes flickered to the portrait of his wife that hung over the mantle. “He’s going after their families?”

“Apparently the gentleman in question used his sister to cover his affair. She married the man’s lover, thus making the situation rife for blackmailers.” Holmes studied the fire intently. “I had to warn you, Julius, and get word to David. Samuel will come after me. He knows I will have figured out his plot and he will not risk my fear keeping me silent. He’s known me too long to think mere intimation will stop me.”

“Surely the Club will handle matters. They have enough connections to do it quietly.”

“He has to have an accomplice.” Holmes insisted. “Someone we do not know. And Samuel is unlikely to go quietly. He’s most assuredly already gone to ground and it will take all my resources to locate him. He’ll swear out an affidavit against me as soon as he can find a constable to take it and then he’ll start up his extortions with a vengeance and will not stop until he has either the funds to flee the country or is apprehended. He’ll need capital to escape the reach of the Club and he’ll go after those of us who are most vulnerable. You’ve a family, Julius, you’ll be on the top of his list.”

“Like hell.” Minorson stood up and paced the length of his room. “I have never been a member of your Club and outside of the four of us no one at university knew of my interests. My wife hasn’t a clue. He could speak out against me tomorrow and not a soul would believe him.”

“But the damage will have been done.” I said quietly. “He needn’t proof to bring down your career.”

“Sherlock, tell me the reason you brought the pessimistic fellow?”

“Dr. John H. Watson is hardly a pessimist, Julius. In fact, he’s apocalyptically optimistic as a rule.” Holmes smiled fleetingly. “And he’s here to insure I don’t fall dead in the gutter, even though he’s risking his sterling reputation by doing so.”

“I risked that when I agreed to take rooms with a mad gentleman detective.” I grumbled, but could not resist smiling in response. “And as your optimistic physician, I am very sorry to inform you that you are done in, Holmes. I’d best be getting you back to Baker Street or you will end up much sorry for it.”

Holmes clucked at me and waved off my concern even as he slumped further into his chair in exhaustion. “Nonsense. I still need to see David.”

“I’ll tell David.” Minorson spoke up firmly. “You do look like death, Sherlock. Let the man mother hen you if that’s what it’s going to take. You didn’t look this bad when you had pneumonia in our second year.”

Holmes frowned. “Please take this seriously, Julius. Samuel never forgave you for winning that essay contest. He still thinks to this day that had he taken first the scholarship would have gone to him and he’d have been able to stay at his studies.”

“It’s you that should be on the look out, Sherlock. You took that scholarship not I. Samuel has been on about that for years.”

“Yes, but he’s afraid of me.” Holmes insisted. “He knows I have connections, and that my brother holds a seat of some importance in government. He’ll still come after me but he’ll have to do it carefully. I haven’t a family to disgrace and blackmail, Julius.”

“David and I do, I know.” Minorson agreed quietly. “But we’ve wives and children, are members of the church. You live a life of a bachelor with no history of women or tragic love to fall back on as defensive. And your friend may fall with you.”

“Watson has a long and lengthy list of brokenhearted maidens behind him, I assure you, as well as the illustrious status of widower.” Holmes shook his head. “Between the two of us we’ll come out alright in the end, Julius. We’ve both less to lose. Take care and heed what I’ve said. You and David should take your families on holiday to the Rivera or some such exotic location for a month or two. Return when I’ve this thing with Samuel wrapped up.”

Julius frowned. “David can most likely get away, but I’m afraid I’m needed at the bank. Any sudden departure would look more suspicious. But I’m sure Helen would be happy to take the children and go with David and his wife. Our family’s are actually quite close.”

“I imagine that simplifies things for you.” Holmes said softly. It was at that point that I realized the nature of Julius and David’s relationship. I dipped my head to hide my blush.

Holmes stood slowly and clasped Julius on the shoulder. “I will do what I can, old friend, to keep you and yours out of this.”

“I know.” Julius sighed softly. “I know.”


	4. Offenses Against the Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> “Yes, but he’s afraid of me.” Holmes insisted. “He knows I have connections, and that my brother holds a seat of some importance in government. He’ll still come after me but he’ll have to do it carefully. I haven’t a family to disgrace and blackmail, Julius.”
> 
> “David and I do, I know.” Minorson agreed quietly. “But we’ve wives and children, are members of the church. You live a life of a bachelor with no history of women or tragic love to fall back on as defensive. And your friend may fall with you.”
> 
> “Watson has a long and lengthily list of brokenhearted maidens behind him, I assure you, as well as the illustrious status of widower.” Holmes shook his head. “Between the two of us we’ll come out alright in the end, Julius. We’ve both less to lose. Take care and heed what I’ve said. You and David should take your families on holiday to the Rivera or some such exotic location for a month or two. Return when I’ve this thing with Samuel wrapped up.”

Holmes, too weak to pace the sitting room, sat in his chair by the fire, a most intense look of concentration etched onto his features. It had been two days since he’d sent warning through Mycroft to the mysterious ‘Club’ where as a youth he’d learned in intimate details the ways of Sodom. Word had come that David had taken his family, and Julius’, to the relative safety of France for a ‘holiday’. Holmes had read the letter quickly and then thrown it in the fire. Others had come, the contents of which I was not privy, all meeting the same indignatus end.

For once Holmes was following my medical advice and remaining in our chambers and gathering his strength. I am not so arrogant as to think this was due to any belief in the soundness of my judgment, so much as Holmes’ acknowledgement that in his weakened state he would pose little threat to Samuel Moffit should he find him and the realization that without my assistance he was unlikely to make it past our front steps without collapse.

As it were, messengers, their livery carefully covered, were in and out of our rooms at a frightening rate and based on the quality of their clothing I deduced that Holmes had not been exaggerating the status of some of the members of his ‘Club’. In fact, as the hour grew later and I had more opportunity to observe their comings and goings, I grew to suspect he may have been being modest.

A part of me longed to inquire as to how, exactly, he had been ‘pledged’ into their circle, and why Mycroft had been inducted and thus gained his brother’s entry. But I knew that my curiosity, normally encouraged by Holmes to a nearly vulgar degree, would not be met with its usual prompt and overly detailed response. Holmes was reluctant to provide details on his past at the best of times and now certainly was not the time for questions.

For my part, I did what I could to make the waiting easier for him. I kept his pipe tobacco well supplied, I saw that Mrs. Hudson prepared only the dishes he preferred, and I kept myself at hand to deliver telegraphs to the office, letters to the post, and the occasional odd missive to the disturbingly unmarked doors of whatever address Holmes supplied. I have no doubt that by the end of the second day I had been given a through, if blind, introduction into the London underworld of men with questionable preferences. Of which, Holmes was apparently as sound an expert as he was of cigar ashes, chemical stains, and bird feathers.

And all of which he had committed to memory alone. In our long acquaintance I had never seen Holmes go so long without consulting one of his numerous ledgers. He had never dared set pen to paper on this topic, I knew, but somehow he still had catalogued all there was to know on it.

Mycroft’s messages gave me hope that this ‘Club’ was making progress. The last message had been a short three words. “We are close.”

It was near midnight, and I was about to urge Holmes to retire, for the fourth time, when the bell rang. Mrs. Hudson was likely a bed, so I dutifully went to greet our late night caller leaving Holmes valiantly fighting sleep in his chair.

I had expected another messenger or errand boy. Inspector Lestrade had been the last person I’d thought to see.

Cap in hand, the man in question looked a sorry figure. Even at his most contrite, Lestrade always appeared confident of his own place and purpose. But in the dim light of the single gas lamp in the entry his countenance seemed to convey deep reservation and reluctance.

“Doctor,” he started uncertainly, his eyes still on the cap in his hands rather than myself, “I am sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I have received a most unsettling report.”

I glanced back up the stairs and when Holmes made no appearance, likely having fallen back into his fitful near slumber after the bell, I motioned the inspector in and led him not to our rooms but to the unlit kitchen. “Holmes is remarkably unwell.” I explained as I put the kettle on and motioned for him to take a seat at the rough table Mrs. Hudson used to prepare our dinners.

Lestrade sat down but made no move to explain himself. I sighed and moved to retrieve two cups from the shelf. “I have a good supposition as to the nature of your visit.” I murmured lowly as I set the now full tea pot down on the table. “A man has come to the Yard and sworn out a complaint against Holmes for gross indecency in violation of the Offenses Against the Person Act.”

Lestrade’s head snapped to attention and he looked at me with a shocked expression. “Why yes, Doctor Watson. That is just it! However…” he trailed off, his face paling. “I…”

I shook my head no as I sat down. “No, I am not guilty of that crime, Inspector, despite what many may begin to believe after the events of the last several days.” I poured myself a full cup and took a slow drink. I left out any affirmation or denial of Holmes’ guilt. “We are on a case and Holmes thought it likely the culprit would turn to this measure in revenge before the end,” I explained in a calm voice. “I have been half expecting a visit from the constabulary ever since he mentioned it. I am most gratified to find that it is you here rather than one unknown to us and our particular form of employment and the vulgarities there in.”

“Ah.” Lestrade picked up his cup and smiled in obvious relief. “I thought something of the like was the case. Holmes may be many things, doctor, but he never struck me as that type and you, twice a widower, I knew it had to be some sort of misdirection.” He leaned in closer across the table. “Now, I’ve seen my share of these sodomites over the years, and I’ve learned to spot them. I can tell when a fellow isn’t right, yes I can.” He leaned back, greatly pleased with himself and his supposed powers of deduction. “It was a lucky thing I was the one to take the report.” He patted his pocket, nodding to himself. “I’ve yet to file it. I knew there had to be an explanation for it all and if you can give me the particulars I will gladly insure that my superiors know the full story. I doubt it will go further than that provided you have proof of this villain’s intent.”

I shifted uncomfortably on the hard kitchen stool. “There may be a problem with providing that evidence.” Lestrade’s smile faded. “You see, Holmes knew this fellow at school and recognized his name while investigating a blackmail case for a client. The client’s brother _was_ guilty of such an offense and she is seeking to…” I paused trying to think of an appropriate half-truth, “preserve his reputation after his death. This blackmailer has certain letters she is attempting to keep out of the hands of the likes of yourself.”

“And Holmes is implicated in these letters?” Lestrade asked indigently.

“Most certainly not!” I put as much of my own indignation into the statement as I could rally. “But the simple fact that he is acquainted with the blackguard is likely to cause difficulty in disproving his involvement. The fellow can make any claim he likes about their youthful adventures and Holmes will have no way to disprove him. So while our case has nothing to do with Holmes’ past, the involvement of this old schoolmate is likely to cause a remarkable deal of trouble for him with no clear way to discredit this vulgar man’s statements.”

“You don’t say the half of it, Doctor.” Lestrade fiddled with his cup. “There’s been a real push to bring these cases to the magistrate of late. And Holmes has made as many enemies as friends at the Yard. I canna say what they will do if I put forth this fellows sworn statement and no more than a weak denial from Holmes and yourself. If you can give me the name of your client and I can confirm your story…” he trailed off, realizing without even asking that we would not do so.

I did not bother to reply, instead standing and moving off to lean against the sink. “Are you here to arrest him? Or should I say us?” I finally asked.

“Not yet.” Lestrade placed his head heavily into his hands. “We haven’t always gotten on, as you well know doctor,” he looked up, “but I respect the man and I cannot abide the thought of dragging his reputation through the gutter with this charge – ey, or what it would do to yours just by association.”

“Do not worry about me, Inspector. Unless this man swears out lies against me, I cannot be charged. As for my reputation,” I made a rude gesture from my army days that shocked a laugh out of the detective. “I’ve no care for it,” I stated coldly. “My only real tie to London is the work that Holmes and I do. If I must leave I can. I have no practice worth the bother and no family I need be concerned over. I can fight any allegations with impunity.”

“You are a good friend, Doctor Watson, a good friend.” Lestrade shook his head again. “I will wait to file this report until close of day tomorrow. It’s the best I can do. If you can secure the letters or have this gentleman retract his statement before then I will gladly tear it up and it goes no further.”

I nodded and started to walk the inspector to the door when a thought struck me.

“What should happen if, when the magistrate sees this complaint, the individual who made it is no longer able to corroborate his statement?”

“Now see here, doctor, you aren’t thinking about committing a greater crime to cover a lesser now are you?” Lestrade asked me, his eyes hard.

“Certainly not!” I managed to bite out, “but I do know that this man has attempted or will attempt to blackmail a great deal of people, Lestrade. Several of which are not nearly as particular in their moral makeup as myself. If he should run afoul of one of them, I would not like to see it go worse for Holmes.”

Lestrade looked up the staircase at the faintly flickering firelight coming from our open door. “We both know that if he wanted to, Sherlock Holmes could get away with murder, and I suspect you as well. If no one else comes forward and this man disappears…” Lestrade turned back towards me, his eyes shadowed. “It would be assumed that Holmes took care of the problem, but without evidence no charges could stand.” He placed his cap back on his head, “However, his behavior would be under greater scrutiny from here out, ey and yours as well.”

I bid the man farewell, his words of warning heavy on me as I returned to our rooms. Holmes was indeed asleep in his chair; his weaken constitution still evident in his pallor and my inability to rouse him. He was far too thin and I was able to lift him from his seat with little trouble, despite my old wounds. He shifted, murmuring a string of numbers as I settled him on his bed and pulled his tattered grey blanket up over his shoulders, tucking it gently around him. In sleep he seemed less of a mystery than he did awake, but his natural tendency to movement was apparent as his eyes restlessly shifted behind his paper thin lids. He murmured again, and turned over to lie on his side facing me, clutching his ragged blanket about his neck. The story behind that dilapidated bit of wool I did not know, but the degree to which he clung to it whenever he was ill told me enough.

Holmes was vulnerable like this. Far more vulnerable than I ever imagined he could be, and as I checked his pulse one last time for the night, I was happy to find it strong and regular despite his still pale and clammy skin. I moved out of his room and shut the door gently before going back to my place by the fire. We had until tomorrow’s close of day to resolve this case, that much was clear. Lestrade would file his report if we did not offer him some kind of evidence and I knew that even should we locate Samuel Moffit and the letters Holmes would not betray Mrs. St. Stephens or her husband. I had little concern for myself, for the reasons I had given Lestrade were sound, but Holmes I knew would suffer greatly if his reputation were called into question. He had little else on which to survive in his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking for someone that would be willing to beta this story, in particular help with some language issues for the next few chapters. I fear I am not very good with accented speech - in particular the kind one would expect to come from one of the Irregulars...


	5. Irregularity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes was vulnerable like this. Far more vulnerable than I ever imagined he could be and as I checked his pulse one last time for the night, I was happy to find it strong and regular despite his still pale and clammy skin. I moved out of his room and shut the door gently before going back to my place by the fire. We had until tomorrow’s close of day to resolve this case, that much was clear. Lestrade would file his report if we did not offer him some kind of evidence and I knew that even should we locate Samuel Moffit and the letters Holmes would not betray Mrs. St. Stephens or her husband. I had little concern for myself, for the reasons I had given Lestrade were sound, but Holmes I knew would suffer greatly if his reputation were called into question. He had little else on which to survive in his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive my horrible imitation of a Victorian street urchin accent. It's ghastly, I know, but it will have to do unless someone with some actual talent in it offers to lend a hand. *hint*

My years in the service had taught me that often the most trying time was the wait before the battle, and as the night drew on and I sat staring into the now dying flames of our grate, I knew that to be the case. I could hear Holmes in the other room, his unsettled sleep evident in the squeaks of his bedframe and the occasional audible murmur. He was of no practical use in his ill health. Oh, his mind was no duller for his body’s weakness, but even with the great number of comings and goings from 221B I knew he was working slower than normal to track Moffit, hindered by his inability to skulk the streets of London in disguise.

Mycroft was close to finding a critical piece of the puzzle – that I knew. But how close? We could ill afford the man to escape now. It pained me to realize it, but for Holmes the best solution possible would be for this Samuel Moffit to disappear – permanently. I knew nothing of murder, save what I had seen on the table and in my work as Holmes’ companion. That said, it is a rare man that goes his life without the thought having crossed his mind, and in those dark hours I am ashamed to say I contemplated what I would do should I find this man.

As dawn began to show itself out our windows, I knew what I had to do. With some difficulty I managed to locate an address for Mycroft other than his club, hidden in the back corner of Holmes’ desk drawer, and with only a twinge of guilt I pulled out my bag and concocted a fairly heavy sedative which I was able to inject Holmes with as he slept. He did not even stir as the needle went in, which I took as a sign that I was right in my judgment that he needed rest foremost of all. I quickly saw to my morning rituals and dawned a fresh set of clothes. I found Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen and warned her of what I had done to Holmes and entreated her to check on him every hour and should she find him worse to call on a doctor that I knew well and who happened to live only a short cab ride away.

With tears in her eyes she agreed, her gaze resting unerringly on my pocket where my revolver was secured. She did not know the full scope of the situation but with all the comings and goings of the last several days she knew that the matter was serious and that Holmes was in some sort of danger. She did not ask for details, good woman that she was, but agreed to send a missive to Holmes’ brother for me as soon as she’d looked in on the man in question, and so within moments I was on my way.

My first matter of business was to contact the “irregulars” as Holmes called them – the group of street urchins whose help he regularly sought out. Wiggins, the leader of this rag tag group, found me more than I found him, and when I explained in generalities what the happenings were the lad got a hard look about him. 

“Mr. Holmes is a decent fella, he ain’t never tried nothin’ with us.” He frowned deeply and I saw a flash of metal in his hand as he gritted his teeth. “We’ll find this blighter, doctor.”

“Do nothing when you do,” I pressed him. “Let Holmes’ brother and I handle the matter. It is likely he is not working alone and while I hope to yet save Holmes the trouble of defending himself from these charges I do not want you to come to harm for our sakes.” The lad looked up at me, his dirty face softening.

“Did ya know ‘e got me brother an apprenticeship down at club o’ his brother’s?” he asked quietly. “’e’s a right roof o’er his ‘ead and food to spare. And they even give him wages, to an apprentice. It’s un’eard of it is. Feeds the young’uns left at ‘ome with me muther wift enough left o’er to put a wee bit aside.”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“’e’s done the like for most of us lads. Even let Tim sleep in the coal cellar his last winter, afor the consumption got him. Even paid for a right proper burial when no one claimed ‘im.” Wiggins wiped his nose on his sleeve. “And ‘efor you go thinking there was an’ing improper, there wasn't.” He looked up at me again, his eyes earnest. “’E treats us like human beings, guv’nor and don’t ask nothing in return, es’cept we do a little near honest work now and then, for a shilling or two.”

“Well there’s more than a shilling at stake this time,” I said gravely. “I’d rather not have the entire city know what’s about, but I thought it best I at least let you know what is at stake. I know how bright a lad you are and considering the places you’ll have to look to find this villain, if I’d left it unsaid you’d have likely deduced it anyway.”

He grinned at me and tipped his cap. “That be the truth!” he eyed the street once carefully before he jumped out into the flow of traffic and was gone.

I hailed a cab and was off to Mycroft’s residence moments later and when I alighted from the cab I was surprised to see his large frame waiting for me on the front steps. “We haven’t time for pleasantries,” he informed me gruffly, entreating me to follow him into a waiting unmarked carriage. I had no more than placed my foot on the step then the horses took to their feet and the carriage jolted into a rapid pace. I fell into my seat next to him and Mycroft adjusted his monocle and frowned. “I received your note and I must say you are showing an admirable degree of loyalty to my dear brother.”

I didn’t bother to reply and he made a small noise in his throat before he pulled a piece of paper out of his inner pocket. “I have yet to locate Samuel Moffit, but I have managed to ascertain the identity of his accomplice.” I looked up in shock. “Yes, I was rather surprised myself at the ease to which we were able to deduce his identity. Sherlock and I have been corresponding regularly in an effort to souse it out, and after his note last evening I was able to piece the last of the puzzle together. His name is William Nock and I believe he was the one that finally secured Moffit an invitation into our little community.”

I frowned and took the paper, which contained a remarkably well done sketch of a middle aged man with an unfortunate cleft lip. “And how did this fellow manage that?”

“His son was introduced to our club six months past.” Mycroft leaned back into the cushions. “A little young for it, in my opinion, but I suppose by thirteen most know their own minds enough to state their aversion if they have one. And what his father lacks in appearance was granted to the son, I am told. Apparently the boy is quite a favorite with one of the Board members, who for our purposes I will call RT. The boy is practically living with the man while he pays for his education. It’s an unusual situation for this group, but apparently RT found the boy…working shall we say? It took a fair amount of convincing for the young man to be admitted at all, given his rather lowly start to life, but RT is highly placed and with a promise that he would groom the boy to fit in properly, the board agreed to consider his membership when RT deemed him suitably prepared for their inspection. The process took over a year before RT deemed the boy domesticated enough to share in the company of others and was admitted after a short deliberation from the board during which time they observed that indeed the lad was of remarkable wit and some talent. I have not met the lad but I have it on good account that he is highly intellectual, if somewhat lacking in education, something RT is most eager to remedy, and is given to the most remarkable prose and insight. Quite a charming conversationalist, as rumor would have it. His position in the club is tenuous, at best, given his youth and social standing, but I see no reason to expel him and have said as much to the other members in my acquaintance.” His face took on a darker look. “I do not hold much stock by the providence of birth, seeing as both Sherlock and myself come from somewhat common heritage but both possess more than average intelligence. It is not the boy’s fault his father is a blackmailer and a general boil on humanity and if his mind is as eager as I have heard, it would be a great disservice to cast him back into the gutter to languish there and be of no use to the world at all.”

I was unsure if Mycroft was being literal in his statements on the boy’s intellectual promise, or if the words had more than one meaning in his circle. I tried to put the question of what, exactly, an uneducated boy of fourteen could have to converse about with the mysterious members of this “club” from my mind and turned my attention back to the issue at hand. “So how does this tie in with Moffit? If the boy’s position isn’t secure how the devil did Moffit leverage him to gain admittance?”

Mycroft grimaced. “Apparently via the same means as we are now bearing witness. Samuel Moffit knew Nock from some of his underhanded dealings in Africa. The man spent a few years there as a laborer working for her Majesty’s navy and did several unsavory jobs on the side for our Mr. Moffit prior to his tour ending. When he returned to Britain, Moffit located Nock hoping he could put him to use in blackmailing your client. Once it became clear to Nock what the entire business was about, he indicated to Moffit that his son was involved in something of a similar nature – I imagine that Nock himself might have been the one to put the boy to work on the street, likely having taken the idea from his time in Africa with Moffit. Apparently Nock had been paid off by RT to keep quiet about his dealings with his son once already. Nock and Moffit approached RT with the intent to extort additional monies but when Moffit discovered RT’s membership in the Club, he offered to make a deal. If he could be secured a membership, they would leave and never darken RT’s door again.

“Of course, in hind sight RT has realized how foolish this was to agree to, but at the time the gentleman in question considered it a bargain believing Moffit wanted nothing more than to gain entry to the more elite circle of those who practice such amusements. Seeing as Samuel Moffit is able to comport himself as a gentleman, and is a man of some education, it was not difficult for a membership to be procured after payments to the correct parties had been made – all those involved believing that Anthony Bredidge, as Samuel Moffit was calling himself, was the son of a newly moneyed merchant out of Africa. He convinced RT and several other board members that his fictional father’s business was not only profitable, but growing, and they thought including him in the Club would open up new opportunities for investing in foreign ventures.”

The more I learned of this club, the more convinced I became of the dual nature of it. It would seem that while these men shared an interest in the ‘love that dare not speak its name’, they also seemed to have a mutual interest in exploiting the talents and resources of its younger members. I again thought of a young and impressionable Holmes and could only imagine what these men had made of his talent for deductive reasoning. I also wondered how often he was called on now to do their bidding, with little choice but to comply or risk exposure. I was not so naive as to believe that the two Holmes brothers were on equal footing with the more eminent members of the Club, such as this clearly doddering RT, but I would wager that both Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes had received some benefit from their association with the enterprise. Whatever position Mycroft held with the government, it was indeed lofty, and while his own talents certainly cemented his position it would not have been possible to reach such ambitious status without a patron of more illustrious pedigree. England had not changed so much that birth was unimportant, not in the circles to which I knew Mycroft was found, and while being a squire’s son was not a small thing, it was certainly not equal to the titled nobility.

What I could not piece together was how they found out about RT. I said as much and Mycroft nodded at me, patting his brow with his handkerchief.

“That, dear fellow, was why Sherlock and I have been running you ragged across town the last few days.” He sighed as the carriage made another turn, to discourage any followers I surmised. Mycroft moved the cover aside and checked our location before continuing, “Sherlock was convinced that whoever had pledged Moffitt had to have been coerced somehow. You see, one does not simply pay a fee and join this club. No, one must be pledged into the circle and voted on by the board. These proceedings are secret, however, and Sherlock is not privy to the identity of the board members – although I would wager that he has deduced nearly all their identities. I, myself, was somewhat higher placed during the time of my active participation in the organization, and have on occasion in the years since had official business dealings with several of its leaders. Where Sherlock would have been unable to gain audience with them it was no large matter to arrange a meeting for myself under the pretext of other matters.”

“You became reacquainted with them during your work with the government?” I asked.

He raised his brow but made no further comment on that subject, instead turning back to the question of how he deduced the identity of RT. “Between my contacts and those Sherlock has gained over the years, we made discrete inquires as to who of this group was set to leave the country. There are, as you might expect given our current conversation, an unusual number of eminent individuals preparing for an out of season trip to the Continent. That list was rather longer then we had hoped, but I was able to use the list of names to convince the board of the necessity in turning over the identity of the man who pledged Moffit in. RT and the boy were already on their way out of the country when one of my agents located them. He confessed to the matter with little pressure and I was informed of the details just prior to retiring last evening. I gave orders for William Nock to be detained shortly before I received your missive this morning.” The carriage began to slow. “We are about to interview the man in question.”


	6. Interviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> He raised his brow but made no further comment on that subject, instead turning back to the question of how he deduced the identity of RT. “Between my contacts and those Sherlock has gained over the years, we made discrete inquires as to who of this group was set to leave the country. There are, as you might expect given our current conversation, an unusual number of eminent individuals preparing for an out of season trip to the Continent. That list was rather longer then we had hoped, but I was able to use the list of names to convince the board of the necessity in turning over the identity of the man who pledged Moffit in. RT and the boy were already on their way out of the country when one of my agents located them. He confessed to the matter with little pressure and I was informed of the details just prior to retiring last evening. I gave orders for William Nock to be detained shortly before I received your missive this morning.” The carriage began to slow. “We are about to interview the man in question.”

I cautiously peered out the window of the carriage and was surprised to see that we had pulled to a stop outside of what appeared to be an old warehouse. I could smell the rank hint of the river in the air although I could not see it. The area was devoid of life and I looked at Mycroft in shock. Holmes and I had been to locations such as these on several occasions to investigate certain happenings, none of which were remotely legal.  Our circular route through the city, designed I had no doubt to mislead anyone that dared to attempt to follow, the desolate setting for our interview with Nock, and the harsh tension I sensed in the elder Holmes all culminated in a sinister chill that settled into my very bones.  I knew that Myrcroft Holmes was not a man to trifled with, but I had always assumed that his great dislike for active participation precluded him from such vile machinations as took place in abandoned warehouses, relying instead on his great intellect to achieve the lofty status he held in government.  Seeing the relative ease with which he accepted our presence, and the obvious implications of our location, I began to suspect that there was far more to the man than I had ever contemplated.

Mycroft said not a word, instead moving, somewhat easier than I expected for a man of size, down the carriage steps. I followed him, my bag in one hand and my trusty pistol a comforting weight in my pocket. We slipped into the building through an unmarked door and I was met with a sight that set my blood to freezing.

The man from the sketch was tied quite thoroughly to a battered chair in the center of the room, bleeding heavily from a wound to his head and with his leg at a most unhealthy angle, while two larger fellows, with the look of the devil about them, stood on either side. This sight did not seem to surprise Mycroft and at his nod the two men moved back into the shadows at the corners of the room.

Nock’s head was hanging limply, but his eyes focused quickly on the pair of us as we approached. He took in the quality of Mycroft’s clothing and the presence of my doctor’s bag and began to struggle in earnest. Mycroft watched him for a long while as the man tested his bonds, but when they held and he finally gave himself over to his fatigue and injuries, slumping down again, Mycroft finally spoke.

“I need not inform you as to why you have been detained.” Mycroft’s tone was colder than winter and I began to realize why Sherlock always seemed to almost fear his brother. “You have been most unwise, Nock, most unwise.”

The man glared but said not a word.

Mycroft stepped closer until he stood within striking distance of the man. “Now, I have only one question for you and you will answer it.”

“Or what?”

Mycroft raised his brow and smiled, the movement lacking any joy and I was reminded of Moriarty at his most vile. “I assure you I can be most creative.” He gestured back to me and I could do nothing but stare in shock. “This is Sherlock’s good friend, Doctor Watson. If I should fail to provide motivation for you, I am sure he can. You see, this little plot that you and Moffit have undertaken has the potential to bring down far more than you suspect and the doctor has his own reputation to consider as well as that of my brother.”

Realization began to dawn in the man’s eyes and he struggled feebly for another moment before he again slumped into his bonds. “And if I give up Moffit?”

“We shall see.” Mycroft answered, leaning forward slightly on his cane.

Nock licked his torn lips and eyed my bag again, clearly fearing the worst from my surgeons implements, not realizing that I would never, could never, use them for such. “We just wanted a little money.” The man began, his eyes looking around frantically. “I swear guv’nor, that’s all.”

“Be that as it may, where is Moffit?”

Nock shivered. “I don't know.” He shook his head, blood dripping down into his eyes from his wound. “Last I saw 'em was after I delivered the message to that tart about her brother. I was supposed to wait for instructions and he’d contact me when he had the next job lined up. All I did was scare the woman and give 'em the name of that man that me son’s taken up with. That’s all!”

Mycroft circled him. “How was he supposed to contact you?”

Nock’s head lulled and Mycroft slammed his cane into the floor, the loud sound jarring the man back into awareness. “Moffit, how was he to contact you?”

“I was to watch the evening Standard,” he slurred. “When I saw a wedding announcement for Gaf & Harmmond I was to meet him at the old infirmary that had the fire.” He blinked, his mind starting to cloud. “You know the one, down in the Chapel.”

He slipped into unconsciousness and I rushed forward to see what could be done but Mycroft’s cane stopped my movement. “Leave him.” He started for the door and when I made no move to follow him, he turned back and reached a hand for my sleeve. “Come Watson,” he said softly. “I know it is against your healers nature but there is not that can save this wretch now. Those men have a dark purpose and it is not I that command them nor is it within my power to overrule those that do.”

As he spoke, the two men moved back from the shadows and I do not think it a flight of fancy to say that the darkness clung to them unnaturally.

As we were climbing back into the carriage I caught sight of a tuft of rough cloth and dirty hair that I knew well to be the boy Wiggins. I signaled to Mycroft to delay a moment and went around the building corner. The boy looked nervous, likely knowing what sort of business our location typically was used for, and my estimate of his talents grew with the knowledge that somehow this child had tracked Mycroft and I across half of London in a carriage with a driver that, I now had no doubt, was adept at subterfuge. Wiggins jumped in alarm when Mycroft came around behind me unexpectedly. I shook my head and murmured lowly to him who our third companion was and Wiggins settled again.

“We think we ‘ave him, guv’nor.” He smiled at me and I made note that I should see to having his teeth looked over when this was matter was done. “One of the younger ones sister saw ‘em down in the Chapel when she was workin’ last night.”

Mycroft and I nodded at one another, glad to have confirmation of what Nock had told us. White Chapel was the most likely location for a criminal of this kind to hide, all be it rather uninspired. Unfortunately it was also a maze of back alleys and shady characters and without Holmes to navigate it I feared I was considerably out of my depth.

“Do you know the exact location he’s staying at?” I asked, hoping that the lad had more to share.

Wiggins shook his head. “Penny didn’t pay ‘im much mind, said ‘e wasn’t looking fer her kind, if ya catch my meaning.” I did and nodded at him to go on. “But she thinks she knows the fellow that took his coin. I can take you to ‘er. She’ll want somethin’ for her troubles I’ll wager.”

I looked at Mycroft and he nodded, motioning the boy to follow us to the carriage. Wiggins looked at the unmarked black conveyance with open skepticism, but after a moments hesitation he climbed inside. The carriage jolted into life and Wiggins’ hand flew to the wall, his eyes large and startled. I wondered if this was the first time the poor boy had ever been inside a closed carriage.

“It will take us some time to reach White Chapel. We dare not take a direct route.” Mycroft stated gruffly.

“Devil of a time findn’ ya.” Wiggins complained. “I ‘ad to ride the back o’ three slop wagons to get ‘ere.”

“The effort is much appreciated,” I smiled at the boy. “I will see that it is worth your effort, I promise. I should have thought to give you fare for a cab.”

“No cab a take me.” He scoffed. “I’m not the sort that rides inside a proper carriage.” He looked around himself again and shook his head. “If not’in’ else, workin’ for Mr. ‘olmes I can say I’ve done that.”

Mycroft adjusted his spectacle. “I say, are you the leader of that band of youths Sherlock has at his disposal?”

Wiggins looked at me before choosing to answer. “yes.” He answered, looking at the elder Holmes with suspicion. “Me brother’s doorman at that club ya almost live at where nobody makes a peep.”

Mycroft let out a deep chuckle. “I thought I detected a familiar resemblance. He’s doing quite well, I’m told, and is a credit to you.” Wiggins straightened slightly at that. “Once we are through this current crisis, I’d like to discuss a business proposition with you.”

“What for?”

Mycroft joined his fingers and rested them on his ample middle. “Sherlock has often extolled on the virtues of having eyes and ears in all the back alleys of London. And I must confess that I too have a network of such agents. However, I have overlooked the potential for the younger crowd to provide such,” he paused to consider his words, “speedy information. My sources hadn’t even managed to provide a proper section of the city in which to search and have been looking for nearly twenty-four hours, yet you have managed, in the span of a few hours, to have nearly solved the mystery of our Mr. Moffit’s location.”

“Wasn’t ‘ard.” Wiggins argued. “Mr. ‘olmes ‘as us find people all the time. We’ve ‘ad practice.”

“I’d wager.” Mycroft grunted slightly as the carriage went over a particularly large hole. “There are infrequent occasions where I also need to locate particular individuals. I would be happy to pay handsomely for the services of you and yours.”

“No.” Wiggins shook his head. “Mr. ‘olmes ne’er asked us to find ‘em for the coppers. Your part o’ the gov’ernment. Folks stop talken’ if the people we find start hangin'.”

“What if I offer the same promise?” Mycroft leaned forward slightly. “In my line of work it’s rare that the people I wish to have followed, or to locate, will ever be picked up- not by the police and not by the government.”

“Disappearing em?” Wiggins asked cautiously. “I know that ware’ause and what goes on there.”

“Not typically, no.” Mycroft looked slightly uncomfortable. “Mostly we wish to know what business they are about. Find out who they talk to, the places they linger.”

“Spy’in.” Wiggins deduced. “Foreign blokes.”

“Precisely.” Mycroft looked at me and I could see his surprise at how quick Wiggins was.

“I’ll talk to the lads.” Wiggins offered grudgingly. “More coin’s always welcome, but they might no’ wanna take the chance.”

Mycroft nodded gravely and then leaned back in his seat resting his eyes. The rest of our journey passed in silence. It wasn’t until we were well within the confines of White Chapel that the true implications of what we were about came upon me.


	7. Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> Mycroft nodded gravely and then leaned back in his seat resting his eyes. The rest of our journey passed in silence. It wasn’t until we were well within the confines of White Chapel that the true implications of what we were about came upon me.

William Nock was most certainly dead, likely minutes after our carriage pulled away from that desolate street. And I felt in those moments, as the horses drew us closer and closer to our real quarry, the full weight of that reality upon my shoulders as surely as if I had been the one to carry out the deed. The knowledge that were we successful in locating Samuel Moffit he would likely share his accomplice’s fate added to my silent despondency. By having turned Wiggins onto the matter, and having followed Mycroft into the carriage, I was now an accomplice to one murder and soon to be of a second. When I’d set out that morning I had comforted myself with the thought that it would not be I that played judge and executioner on these men, but as the journey progressed through the very heart of the city and further into the most vile and retched of the east London districts, I knew that such rationalizations were both inadequate and woefully unacceptable. What difference was there between Mycroft and I, as we rode in that carriage, and the hundred odd criminals that Holmes and I had devoted our lives to apprehending?

Now reader, I do not mean to say that I felt guilt over this realization, more that I felt guilt for not. It was a strange sensation. I had, in the line of service, already been the instrument of more than one man’s death. And as a physician I was well accustomed to observing people as they drew their final breath. I will confess that there had been a small number of cases that out of mercy I had hastened them to that end. So perhaps my callousness as to the eminent demise of Nock and Moffit came from long familiarity with the after life and not some deep seated inadequacy of my moral character. It should trouble me that it was not difficult to lay aside these ponderings and to focus on the matter at hand, but considering the ultimate outcome of this venture I cannot be so inclined. I had but to think on the pale and miserable image of Holmes lying desperately ill in our flat to urge me to stay the course set before me. My good friend was rarely ill, but the combination of his overdose and possible poisoning coupled with the very real threat of ruin and prison over this matter had come as close to breaking Holmes as anything in our long association had. It was only through swift and diligent interference that his brother and I had managed to keep him abed, and I knew with utter certainty that should we fail that afternoon Holmes would take to the streets himself in search of his foe and likely be found dead from exposure and exhaustion in the gutter soon after.

While my mind was still in turmoil over the revelations I had received as to Holmes’ most intimate dealings, I was without a doubt convinced that even such a startling and repugnant predilection was outweighed by the good and just set of his character in all other matters and I would, without reservation, overlook any and all such associations for the remainder of our friendship. In truth, I was, and vowed that I would continue to, do all I could to shield this part of his nature from public and judicial scrutiny. As a doctor I felt that it was my duty to provide what sound council I could to Holmes as my patient, but as his friend I understood that while in most men this would be considered more than a mere vice, in Holmes it was no more defining a characteristic than the color of his hair and he would allow it no more weight in guiding his actions. It was only the knowledge that the rest of London, the full weight of civilized society, would not agree that kept my mind fixated on the terrible course upon which I was set.

Let us return then to the tale and I will summarize the happenings of the next few hours.

Once in White Chapel, Wiggins disembarked from the carriage and located the young girl who had witnessed Moffit purchasing the company of a lad known to make his living off the attentions of men. She was able to lead him to the boy in question and Wiggins, with the application of a few coins, convinced the lad to come back to the carriage. When he arrived he was surprised to find that instead of two clients he was faced with two men only interested in conversing with him. But after Mycroft paid him handsomely for his time, he was most willing to tell us all he could of our quarry.

Moffit was staying in a rented flat at the edge of the district. It was not a grand place, nor was it poor. A reasonable sort of rented room that any gentleman who choose to live in the area might take for himself if he were without wife or child. The boy did not know the exact address but he was able to give us directions to the place that Wiggins and I were able to follow with only a small amount of difficulty – being that neither of us was well versed in the geography of that particular district. We left Mycroft behind in the carriage, his frame and the horses far too recognizable a sight to go unremarked if things should go ill.

Once we found the rooms in question, I bade Wiggins to take his leave of us and gave him all the money I had on my person in thanks for his work. The look he gave me made it clear he knew my purpose and that had I but asked he would have aided me, even up to murder, his loyalty to Holmes was so great. But I could not ask that of the boy and so I sent him on his way and bade him to check with Mrs. Hudson and insure Holmes had not taken a turn for the worse in my absence, and to tell her not to hold the evening meal.

I waited more than an hour hidden in the shadows of the alley across from the flat before Moffit appeared in the window. I had a sketch of the man that Holmes had sent Mycroft so I was sure we had the correct villain. He glanced out the low window and took out a pipe before turning back inside. He did not see me. I made my way quickly back to Mycroft and gave him the news as well as a firm address. He did not say a word, but struck his stick on the roof of the carriage and we were off across the city again, the route meandering as always.

By the time we reached Mycroft’s club I was near faint from hunger, he little better, so we set down to a hastily ordered meal in his private rooms while he sent a short coded missive to whoever it was that would finish the business. It was not until the last crumb had been cleared from his plate that he finally spoke.

“This has been a most uncomfortable, nasty business.” He eyed me carefully. “What will you tell Sherlock?”

I closed my eyes in pain. “I am not sure I will need tell him anything. He will know I drugged him. And when he learns that I was about with you this day, and what has become of the two men he sought, he will deduce all there is to know.” I opened my eyes and stared at the collection of dinner plates. “It is his reaction that I am uncertain of.”

“Well we both should be.” Mycroft agreed softly. “Sherlock often makes hasty decisions on the fate of others but he does not take kindly to anyone else taking such liberties.”

“And what shall we do about Lestrade?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Mycroft rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “There will be no complaining witness. The inspector will file his report. If we are lucky the magistrate will consider Holmes an asset to the Yard and let the matter rest uninvestigated. But if we are not, and the magistrate is of the opinion that my brother is a nuisance and a hindrance to the proper order of the judiciary, then he may call a hearing, perhaps even ask for Sherlock’s arrest. At worst, when the judge hears the case and there is no one present to tell their tales, my brother will be released with the courts’ apologies. It will cause a fair amount of harm to his reputation in some circles and many of those men whose company he has enjoyed over the years will do well to avoid him lest an over eager investigator make a connection between them. But most will believe he was somehow involved in the deaths of these men and it may actually do him some good with the criminal element. They already fear his mind, now they may fear his wrath.”

“Even though he has had no involvement?”

“No one will know the full story, Watson. They will believe what they wish to believe and it is far easier to think Sherlock a murderer than a sodomite.” Mycroft eyed me speculatively. “I think that we had best find you other rooms as soon as the dust settles on this. To move now will be seen as a sign of guilt, but to stay may invite unwanted attention.”

“I will leave that choice up to Holmes.” I did not wish to think of leaving him alone to what I knew were dark thoughts and the contents of his leather case but I could not tell Mycroft my reasons. Holmes would not want his brother to know the extent of his decent, although I suspected that he was more than aware of the true cause of Holmes’ current indisposition.

Myrcoft accepted my words without comment, although by the slight deepening of his frown I knew his thoughts too dwelt on the rather alarming signs that long association with cocaine were beginning to show upon his brother’s person. It was with some measure of guilt that I recognized that my marriage to dear Mary, and subsequent long absence from Baker Street, had allowed his habit to continue unchecked. His time away during those unfortunate years after the fall of Moriarty also playing no small part. In his younger years I have no doubt that he managed the curse without need of outside council, but as the years began to grow in number, and the weight of having such a mind, as well as such an intimate understanding of the criminal element, began to pull at him. I saw how frequently he returned to it. Where once it was only relied upon in the most dull and uneventful breaks between cases, it had become, to Holmes’ deep personal mortification, a frequent and near necessary crutch. I was under no illusion that his use was confined only to his 7%, and it was with a heavy heart that I acknowledged the possibility that left without friend, Holmes might eventually fall into the pit of absolute addiction. As it was, I feared that this latest misadventure with the needle may have damaged his heart for I could find no other cause sufficient to his current state.

Let me caution you reader, that I do not mean to say that Holmes required such substances to function as the great mind of his age that he most surely was, and is. No, in fact it was because of his great intellect that I believe he turned to such preparations. He could not stand idle rest, requiring constant motion and stimulation to keep his mind at peace. Where other men would find his pace of thought and deed exhausting, it was only when in a constant whirl of motion that Holmes ever found rest. When no activity or puzzle could be found to put his endless energies to, he would turn to narcotic stimulation. And when he finally exhausted himself physically, but could not yet settle his great mind to rest, he would inevitably turn from his 7% to the rather more dubious arms of morphine.

As Mycroft and I bid our farewells and I prepared to return to Baker Street to look in on my unwilling patient a small note was delivered to the elder Holmes, upon which a single word was printed in neat block- Done.


	8. Convalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> As Mycroft and I bid our farewells and I prepared to return to Baker Street to look in on my unwilling patient a small note was delivered to the elder Holmes, upon which a single word was printed in neat block- Done.

I left Myrcoft's chambers in something of a daze and it was only as I was within sight of our rooms that I remembered the letters that Moffit had used to blackmail our client, Mrs. St. Stephen.  I had quite forgotten that this entire matter was brought about by that plain lady and her plight.  It was with an ill feeling in my stomach that I turned away at the last moment and hailed a cab to return to White Chapel.  I had the driver stop at a small herbalist shop I had frequented before that was located a few streets away from the villain's flat and promised a handsome tip if he waited for me, saying I would not be long. It was no great feat to slip into the shop and out the back exit. It took only a few minutes to find the location of Moffit's rooms again.  I slipped unnoticed through an open window and I was relieved to find that there was no body to greet me. Whatever the Club had done to end the matter they had not killed him there.

I found the letters tucked neatly into a hallowed out book.  They were not alone and I took the small packet of photos and other documents as well as a considerable stack of bank notes that resided with them, lest another poor family find themselves in such painful circumstance.  It took me several minutes of tense panic to find my way back out the open window, dodging several workmen that had suddenly appeared in the building next door.  But eventually I was out and I had considerably less difficulty returning to the small store from which I had made my disappearance.  The elderly woman who ran the shop knew me, for I occasionally called on her establishment for the handful of native remedies I had added to my practice from my time in India.  If she noticed that I had made use of her back entrance she had the good grace not to inquire.  I purchased a good amount of my typical order from her and returned to the cab where it waited.  The entire matter took less than an hour to manage and the driver did not question me on my long absence once he saw the weight of my packages.  The ride back to Baker's Street took longer.  And it was only with a slight twinge of guilt that I paid my way with one of the banknotes I'd taken from the dead man's rooms.  It was lucky that I had found them since it had escaped my mind that I'd used the last of my own coin to pay Wiggins for his trouble.  

My tread upon the steps of our residence was heavy when I finally made my escape back to 221B, and I was relieved to find that Mrs. Hudson had yet to retire for the evening. She seemed to sense my bone deep weariness and only paused me long enough to provide an update upon Sherlock’s condition. The sedative I had supplied had worn off faster than I had hoped, but he was still weak from his misadventure and unable to make his escape from our rooms through any of his typical means. With Mrs. Hudson fairly blocking the door, he was left with little choice but to admit to his temporary frailty. Wiggins had indeed returned and his report had put Holmes into a fair state of agitation, but the knowledge that Mycroft was at my side had steadied him enough that he remained a bed, however reluctantly.

I gave her my thanks and wearily climbed the last of the steps to our shared sitting room. Holmes was ensconced in his chair, wrapped heavily in blankets, and sitting close to the fire. I could tell from the rapid movement of his leg and the way his head seemed to quiver as his eyes raked the room that he was not resting, but rather coiled like a cobra and gathering what strength he had to make a strike should his enemy make an appearance. His eyes caught mine and I saw in them a terror I had not beheld before or since.

“Watson!” He cried and made to stand, his blanket falling to his feet and nearly tripping him as he moved towards me. I quickly crossed the room and pressed him back into his chair and settled his blankets around him lest he catch a draft. I think it was then, as he caught sight of my expression in the flickering light of the fire, that he knew the full nature of the days work without my having uttered a word. He did not ask what had transpired. His dark eyes, so expressive to those that knew him well, clouded and his hand gripped mine tightly. “Oh Watson,” he breathed. “My dear, dear Watson.” He could not look upon me as he said it, instead turning his head away in a defeated movement. “Whatever have I driven you to.”

I made not a sound, choosing rather to pull the divan closer so that I might sit across from him without removing my hand from his grasp. He seemed to need the physical comfort and I was more than willing to provide it as it gave me a ready chance to feel his pulse again, which while more rapid than I would like, was once again steady and strong. I still feared the cause of his collapse and it would be some time before I was confident in the strength of his constitution. I did note that his color was vastly improved and that there was a mostly empty bowl of broth next to him, both of which I took as a sign of his continued improvement.

We stayed in that position for some time before Holmes finally broke the silence. “I take it that all is handled.”

“Nearly.” I responded softly, removing my hands from his only long enough to take out the packet of letters and other documents and setting them next to me before gently taking his hands up again, letting my thumb rub soothingly over his long fingers. “Your brother’s contacts were...” I trialed off, unsure of how to describe the events of which I had only scant evidence, but knew well had taken place. Holmes did not seem to require clarification, however.

“They are both dead, Samuel and his accomplice.” He stated it as fact and I detected a hint of remorse in his tone. “I knew it would come to this, but I cannot help being somewhat…” Holmes’ voice gave out on the last word but I saw his lips form the shape. _Regretful_.

“You cared for him once.” I acknowledged. “It is only natural that you would mourn this conclusion.”  His hands shook slightly in mine as if he was vibrating with some constrained emotion.

“It was necessary.” Holmes let go of my hand with a harsh movement, turning his gaze to the pile of newspaper laid out on the table. “Samuel knew the risks and had he not chosen to return to my city with his schemes, I would not have been forced to take action. As it is, I am glad for Mycroft and the Club. They spared me the trouble of handling the matter on my own.” He pulled his worn gray blanket tightly around his shoulders and turned back to the fire. “I am only sorry you were dragged into this, Watson. It was not your burden to bare.”

I sighed softly and Holmes’ gaze shot up to me. I met it with resignation. “It may not be entirely over, Holmes. Last night, while you were resting, Lestrade came to question us. Apparently Moffit did go to the Yard, but by some divine providence it was the Inspector that took his compliant. And while Lestrade was willing to delay filing the report out of his grudging loyalty to you, I’m sure that by morning it will be with the magistrate. If he chooses to take up the case I am sure that I will be called to question along with you – regardless of guilt.”

Holmes did not flinch but I saw his jaw tighten. “I will not allow them to drag you through the proverbial mud. What political capital and influence I have, Watson, I promise I will use to keep you out of it.”

“My God man, use it to extract yourself from this…this nightmare!” I admonished. “I have no fear of the court. My brother Henry is dead, and any family I have left is remote at best. I sold my practice when I returned to Baker Street and I have yet to establish another. If needs be I can leave this country and return to India. You, however, have a life here, Holmes, a life you cannot so easily leave.”

He watched me silently for a long moment before finally speaking, his words making my heart clinch as they had not the first time I heard them, their intensity far more potent after our long years of companionship. “I am _lost_ without my Boswell.” He stressed, his words growing firmer with a conviction I seldom heard him direct towards me. “Were you to leave London over this, make no mistake – I would hasten from these shores as if the hounds of hell had descended, regardless of the courts decision. Where you go, Watson, I will follow – until you tire of my company and request me gone.”

The echo of my words from those dark days when the threat of Moriarty hung over us sent a chill down my spine. “You shall have a long wait.” I informed him softly. “A very long wait indeed.”  I could no more imagine my life without Holmes than I could imagine living without air.  I closed my eyes as the remembered pain of his supposed death washed over me and I believe I may have let a bit of moister escape my eye.  "I lost you once," I whispered, "I shan't do it again.  I do not believe I would survive it."


	9. Acts of Conscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> The echo of my words from those dark days when the threat of Moriarty hung over us sent a chill down my spine. “You shall have a long wait.” I informed him softly. “A very long wait indeed.” I could no more imagine my life without Holmes then I could imagine living without air. I closed my eyes as the remembered pain of his supposed death washed over me and I believe I may have let a bit of moister escape my eye. "I lost you once," I whispered, "I shan't do it again. I do not believe I would survive it."

The next morning as I sat down to a strong pot of Mrs. Hudson’s tea and a good breakfast, I found I lacked all appetite. In an effort to encourage Holmes towards his own meal, I made a valiant effort to forge through my plate but found that it was near impossible to calm my nerves enough to stomach more than a few scant bites. The tension in our flat was palpable and when finally the morning paper came, it was with trembling fingers that I scanned the pages for any mention of Holmes, Moffit, or Nock.

There was not a word.

By noon Holmes was a terror of constrained inaction and no words of mine could cease his endless pacing. He had lost weight he could ill afford during his convalescence and his shirt and trousers hung somewhat limply on his gaunt frame. Neither of us had slept well and with little to do but wait we were like caged animals left to do naught but snarl at one another and wear paths in the carpet. Finally, in an effort to distill some of my nervous energy, I took to organizing the massive accumulation of papers that Holmes had unearthed over the last few days and return them to their rightful places. At first he seemed not to notice my task and only acknowledged my presence by diverting his pacing so as not to collide with me. As it neared dusk he finally wore himself down to the point that he was forced to retake his chair by the fire and in doing so came to realize what it was that had kept me occupied all the afternoon.

“Watson,” he began to speak, his voice slightly gruff from a day’s disuse, “you shouldn’t bother with any of that. I’m perfectly capable of filing papers away. I would have gotten to it eventually even in my weakened state.”

“Yes, but would you have ever found them again afterword?” I teased slightly as I pulled a thick bundle of “S” papers out of the “M” folder. “I do wonder what you would do if I stopped playing secretary for you.”

“Hire one I suppose.” Holmes mused, his eyes finally regaining a hint of their usual mirth. “Mrs. Hudson would likely have evicted me if not for your diligent efforts at maintaining some reasonable amount of clean horizontal surfaces.”

“Or at least stop delivering your meals for lack of a place to set the tray.” I gestured to our table which was still half covered in a week’s worth of papers. “Now that you’ve finally come to rest, I could use your assistance in clipping whatever articles you wish to keep from that lot so we can dispose of the rest.”

Holmes nodded and moved obligingly to the table to take up the task. He had made it through most of the stack when the downstairs bell rang. We both stopped in mid motion to listen intently as Mrs. Hudson answered. Holmes did not turn to look at me as we heard her greet our guest and begin up the steps, but I could not take my eyes away from his shoulders. I could see him visibly stiffen as each step brought them closer.

Mrs. Hudson knocked once lightly on the door before opening it and announcing that Inspector Lestrade was here to see us.

Lestrade entered and I could tell little from his expression. He nodded solemnly to me before his focus turned to Holmes and I saw his eyes narrow as he took in his appearance and the ever present wool blanket that was draped around his shoulders.

“Good evening, Inspector.” Holmes stood up from the table and motioned the man forward and closer to the fire. “Please do come in and warm yourself. The nights are unseasonably cold of late.” Holmes took up his seat by the fire and I moved to my desk behind him in silent support. Lestrade took off his outer coat, hat, and gloves and moved to the grate, holding his hands out to the fire.

The Inspector remained quiet for a long moment, and even Holmes seemed to understand that patience was called for. While I could see by the set of his shoulders that my friend was having difficulty controlling his natural desire for movement, he remained in place and passive until Lestrade finally began to speak.

“I’ve made it no secret that I disagree with your methods, Holmes.” Lestrade’s voice was softer than I was used to and it held a distinct note of hesitation that was most unusual. “But I would be a fool and a liar if I failed to recognize the good you have done the constabulary, and myself, over our acquaintance.” He kept his gaze firmly on his hands and the fire. “I’m sure Dr. Watson has told you of my last visit.”

“He did.” Holmes agreed, his voice equal in tone.

Lestrade nodded, still not looking towards our side of the room. “We found the bodies of two men this afternoon in the center of a park that has a certain reputation. They had been horrifically murdered and the bodies strung up on the fence.” Lestrade’s jaw tightened. “I will not inflict the details upon you. I am sure that the evening edition will have more graphic accounts than is proper. It was clearly a message. I don’t suppose you know to whom?”

Holmes took a slow breath. “I would wager it was more of a general statement that certain actions would be met with harsh rewards for anyone foolish enough to attempt them.”

“I have no love of blackmailers, Mr. Holmes.” Lestrade raised one hand to the bridge of his nose as if in pain. “I find such underhanded villains to be among the most vile and retched of the criminal class and often the hardest to catch. I find it difficult to personally fault a man for handling such a matter with violence when all else fails, but the law is the law. I will pursue the murder or murders to the full extent of my abilities.”

Holmes nodded. “Naturally, I would expect no less of you, Inspector.”

“There are many in the Yard already inquiring as to why I have not been to see you, seeing as this is a most sensational case with no clear motive.” He paused and I closed my eyes to await the accusation only to find them fly open in shock at his next words. “They think I am here now to seek your advice on the case and I have allowed them to continue in that false assumption.” At that he finally looked up from the fire to Holmes, their eyes meeting for the first time in the evening. “I will inform them that you are ill, and under Dr. Watson’s orders to remain abed for at least the next week. As such, I am asking you, Holmes, to stay here and out of sight lest they begin to question why you are not assisting what will likely be the most dramatic murder case of the last year.”

“I understand.” Holmes held his gaze unflinchingly. “I do feel it is necessary to tell you, Lestrade, that despite whatever motive I may or may not have had to murder these men, I have not left these rooms for several days. I have had no part in their demise and while I have a fair idea of the men who may have ordered this deed, I have no evidence of their crimes even were I inclined to turn such over to you.”

“Dr. Watson?” He asked, his gaze not straying from Holmes.

“I spent yesterday in the company of either Holmes or his brother.” I supplied softly. “If you require assurance of my doings, I suggest you speak to Mrs. Hudson and to Mycroft Holmes in the Foreign Office. With Sherlock indisposed, Mycroft and I have been doing what we can to limit the damage these allegations could cause.”

Lestrade nodded, finally letting his eyes drop as he sank down onto the divan. “I know there is more to this tale than that, gentleman, but I trust that neither of you is foolish enough to have dirtied your own hands in the matter.” He sighed and looked towards Holmes pleadingly. “Just tell me they deserved it, Holmes. Tell me that these two men would have hung regardless and perhaps I will be able to sleep when we fail to close the case.”

“Samuel Moffit was guilty of at last three murders of which I am aware.” Holmes stated grimly. “His accomplice Nock sold his own son on the street to pay for his gin and I would wager my right hand that he'd killed at least once. No, Lestrade, the city is far better off without either of them.”

“It is still murder.” Lestrade put his head in his hands and leaned forward, his posture defeated. “By God, Holmes, all I wanted was to see justice done, to be a good and honest police man. As I sit here I know, without question, that there is more to this tale and I know that if I tried I could tease out the truth, eventually.” He looked up and shook his head. “I wouldn’t like what I found, would I?”

“Most likely not.” Holmes conceded. “But if there is any guilt in this room, Inspector, it lies with myself. Watson is innocent in this matter, as in all things.”

Lestrade let out a dark harsh chuckle. “Watson would follow you right to the gates of hell, Holmes, and we both know it. And while I’ve heard you deny murder, you’ve not said a word about the other charges. I didn’t want to believe it, but seeing you here, not railing against it…” He trialed off, his face twisting in distaste. “I would have bet a years wages there wasn’t a hint of truth in it and I would have lost, wouldn’t I?” When Holmes didn’t answer Lestrade grimaced and made a pained noise.

“What will you do?” I asked finally as the long silence stretched to the point I could no longer stand mute. My hand moved to grip the back of Holmes’ chair and even though I could not see his face, I knew my friend was in agony.

“Nothing.” Lestrade bit out harshly, standing up swiftly to lean against the fireplace mantle. “What can I do? If I put forward that report they will make an example of you – both of you – guilty or not. The politicians are lined up to make a stand against moral degeneration and a sodomy case against a public figure, especially a controversial one like Holmes, would make many powerful men happy. Even if the case was thrown out later or failed to find a conviction it would spell the end of Sherlock Holmes, private consulting detective.”

“I cannot ask you to withhold the complaint.” Holmes insisted, sitting straighter in his chair. “I will not ask a man of the law to go against his duty.”

Lestrade stood up and paced to the far side of the room and back. “And what is my duty, Holmes? Can you tell me that? How many lives have you saved in the course of your career? How many crimes have you prevented? If I send you away to her majesty’s prisons, is that justice?” He looked up at us, his eyes nearly wild in the light of the fire. “It is the letter of the law, but is it _right_?”

“That is a question only you can answer, Lestrade.” Holmes stood up, letting his blanket fall back into his chair. “I am prepared to meet any allegations against me in court. I will not flee nor will I beg.”

“I’d ask again if they were true but I do not think I will like your answer should you actually give it.” Lestrade looked ill at the thought before biting out angrily, “What possessed you, and with that vile creature?”

“I was young.” Holmes confessed softly. “And I was very much alone. I once considered Samuel a friend – one of the very few I had during my schooling. That is all that matters in the end – I thought him a friend and he thought of nothing but personal gain. He is dead and his last act in life was to hurl accusations to wound me.”

Lestrade nodded grimly and reached into his jacket to pull out a thick piece of paper. He held it tightly in his fist. “This is the only copy. I took the statement myself and no other has laid eyes on it, or knows the contents. There was no time to file it today, not with the bodies turning up as they did.” He stepped closer to the fire and I gasped as he let it fall from his hand into the flames. “I want your promise, Holmes, that I will not regret this.”

“Do you wish my solemn vow that I will never again commit the crime to which Samuel accused me?” Holmes sounded almost angry. “Is that the price you would extract?”

“No.” Lestrade shook his head, his voice gaining strength. “Frankly, I want to know as little about your guilt or innocence in that regard as possible and I ask that you do everything in your power to keep me ignorant of it. What I desire is your assurance that you will never put me in the position to cover for you again. I’m breaking every oath I’ve taken, Holmes. I’m going against God, the Queen, and my own conscious to keep you out of the dock and I want your assurance that it will be worth it. We need you out here, Holmes. Without you the criminal element of this city would have taken us all in a strangle hold. But I need to know that I’m not making a deal with the devil to escape his minions.”

Holmes let out a sudden and harsh laugh. “I’m far from the devil.”

“If you’d a mind to, Holmes, you could have taken over Moriarty’s operation and expanded it ten fold.” Lestrade insisted. “I’ve no doubt of it. Somehow you’ve come down on our side and for that I owe you some measure of loyalty. I pay my debts.”

“Then consider us even as of this moment.” Holmes held out his hand and Lestrade hesitantly took it. “I may have underestimated you, Inspector. I shall not do so again.”

“Oh yes you will.” Lestrade grumbled as he picked up his coat and gloves and replaced his hat. “I never want to discuss this again. I consider the matter closed. Good day, gentleman.”

With that Lestrade turned and left our quarters. I stared after him for several long moments before I turned back to Holmes. He stood in the center of the room, his tall frame still and a most peculiar expression upon his face.

“Watson,” he began softly. “I am rarely taken so off guard by a person’s actions that I am without words for the situation.”

“Inspector Lestrade is a good man.” I answered back. “During your absence we worked rather closely on several cases as I served as police surgeon. He may not share your gift for observation and deduction, but he does have a strict moral code by which he conducts himself. This was no easy decision for him.”

“I did not ask it of him.”

“And that is why he did it.” I replied.


	10. Wilde Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> “Inspector Lestrade is a good man.” I answered back. “During your absence we worked rather closely on several cases as I served as police surgeon. He may not share your gift for observation and deduction, but he does have a strict moral code by which he conducts himself. This was no easy decision for him.”
> 
> “I did not ask it of him.”
> 
> “And that is why he did it.” I replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved the year for Devil’s Root from 1897 to 1895 to make this timeline work. In my defense, Watson may have changed names and dates to protect the names of clients… so maybe it really wasn’t ’97… I’ve also based the visual elements of the story and the hints at drug use off the Granada series again although I don’t believe this deviates to far from ACD’s original works. I’ve been introducing the series to a few newbies lately and it’s been ever present on my mind. 
> 
> I have a conference for work this week- where I'm ironically presenting on fanfiction of all things (God I love being a librarian.) So I'm not sure if I will be able to keep up daily postings until Thursday - however, the next chapter will start the actual romance bits. So I will try very hard (giggle) to get them to you in as fast as possible. I don't want to sacrifice quality for speed but I will try.

By the time Lestrade’s requested week of hiding was spent, Holmes was near mad from being confined to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson had retreated to her sister’s in an effort to escape his horrific tempers and it was only due to my willingness to catch and ferry for him that he was able to retain even a hint of sanity during that time. I had up to that point seen my friend in nearly every mood imaginable, but in the days following Moffit and Nock’s murders he was frightful company. I did the best I could for him, delivering him the chemicals he demanded for his experiments, purchasing copies of nearly every newspaper available in London, making frequent trips to the booksellers and music stalls, and every other various and sundry task he saw fit to hurl at me when the whim struck him. It was not enough to keep his mind active and had he not still been recovering I am sure he would have taken up his needle in earnest.

I do not know whether it was good sense, fear of what had almost befallen him, or if it was out of loyalty to me, but he stayed away from his leather case without my prompting for which I am eternally grateful. His temper was epic in proportions during this time and while I would have done my duty as his physician and friend to intercept such action, I am truly afraid of the words that would have ensued had he pressed me. There was a time or two I dare say he might have turned to physical violence his mood was dark enough. Yet, he too seemed to sense the tenuous edge to our relations and curbed his actions, albeit a close thing.

His health seemed to wax and wan during this time, but his heart remained strong and I recognized that some of his difficulty was likely due to his abrupt departure from his narcotic pastimes. As such, I tried my best to weather his harsh swings in mood and do all I could to ease his way. He never acknowledged my efforts, at least not verbally, but I dare say I detected a hint of fondness in his eye when I would make a particularly gallant effort to appease him and for the next few hours he would be marginally improved of temperament. These episodes were infrequent at best, and never lasted long, but they sustained me.

Lestrade was true to his word and while the papers dutifully reported each and every gory detail of the murders, Holmes’ name never once appeared in connection to the case. As the days slipped by they lost interest and eventually stopped reporting on it all together. We had word from Wiggins that there were murmurs on the street that the dead men had run afoul of some secret order and paid the price, but that was all. I returned the letters to a grateful Mrs. St. Stephen and we burned the rest. The case was closed and there was little else that can be said about it.

Holmes waited an extra three days before making himself known to the world again, appearing lean and waxen as any man recovering from a serious illness might. He played the part of recovering invalid well and I do not believe anyone but Wiggins and a handful of the Irregulars had any idea how close he had come to disaster, nor the cause. Mycroft called only once and the conversation never hinted at our recent adventures. If it had not been for the significant look he gave me upon his departure I would have thought the matter naught but a dream.

And so life moved on at Baker Street. A new case arrived the second afternoon as word made its way around London that the world’s only consulting detective was once again open for business. The frantic tension of the last few weeks melted into the normal rush and bother of casework and I dare say that by the time a month had gone by it was as if it had never happened, and at times I will admit that I quite forgot the matter entirely.

If I had expected Holmes to act differently now that I knew his terrible secret, I would have been severely disappointed. As it was, I had been right in my assumption that his particular peculiarity made no difference to the man I knew. His mind was just as sharp, his movements just as elegant and deadly as I had grown accustomed to. By the second month, no sign of his illness was left upon his person, with the notable exception that I now found myself in possession of his cocaine bottle and under orders to ration it as I saw fit. I did not deny him it when pressed, and the simple act of going to me for the vial reduced his use considerably. By the time Christmas had come and gone he was back to only the most infrequent of use, such as had been his custom upon our first meeting all those years ago.

Morphine, however, had become his new drug of choice. It was in the dead of night that the truth of the past months was revealed and I had to admit that not all remained the same as it once was. Holmes seemed incapable of sleep without the addition of a sedative and while I was at first reluctant to administer so powerful a drug I could not stand the sight of him so distraught and weary yet unable to gain a moments peace. In all our years together I had observed his frightful sleep patterns and I knew that it was not unusual for him to go days at a time with little to no significant rest. But in the months following Moffit’s death he seemed unable to find solace – not in his violin, his tobacco, or even the extensive piles of reading he used to near drown himself in. His cases were interesting and he dedicated himself to them with the same single-minded devotion as always, but as soon as the danger was past he would return to our rooms and retire to his bed only to spring up from it as if burned only an hour later. I would listen to his pacing below me as I rested in my room until out of pity I would take the stairs to his side, medication in hand.

It was not physical pain that plagued him. Neither do I believe it was guilt or remorse for Moffit. It seemed to my mind that he suffered from some other darkness, of which I could not guess. Lestrade seemed unusually distant at first, but even he had eventually excepted that knowing the truth of Holmes’ past did not change the great detective, and even had he not come round I doubt his displeasure could have so affected my friend.

When even the morphine began to cease to induce slumber I took up my medical journals in search of an answer. I read all there was to find on men who preferred the company of other men, but so little was known I found nothing to aid me. A new term, homosexual, came to my attention with Kraft-Ebing's _Psychopathia Sexualis_ which I found enlightening but hardly of assistance. While I had in the course of my practice witnessed many unfortunate cases of what he would label as paraesthesia, I could not place Holmes into the same category of deviancy as those that took advantage of children or the insane. And, having some past history with the marriage bed, I found his lack of attention to the female sex somewhat short sighted, thus throwing doubt onto his other theories. While I agreed that the natural desires for sexual release were likely grounded in procreative urges of a base animal nature, I found it difficult to accept that the only non-deviant cause for such action could be the creation of life. By the time I laid the work aside, I was convinced only that I felt very sorry for Mrs. Kraft-Ebing and that there was unlikely to be an answer from the larger medical community within my lifetime.

It was a strange period of time for me as I began to notice a deeper layer to society that I had never before given attention to. Innocent gestures between acquaintances at the opera took on new connotations. Literature that I had once glanced past with only a small note of confusion suddenly took on nuanced meaning. Yet, through it all, I did not doubt my friendship with Holmes nor did I feel any nervousness in his company. We had lived together for many years by this point and if, at any time, he’d harbored desires for my person he had hid them well and truly so that I was not uncomfortable with him even knowing the direction of his nature.

I did wonder if he was inherently abnormal, as Kraft-Ebing implied, or if it was through his early youthful association in the Club that he had learned such behavior- and if, like certain drugs, repeated exposure had addictive qualities. The scientist in me was desperate to test my hypotheses but I knew that inquiring after such with Holmes would make him most uncomfortable and I could not even imagine instigating such a conversation with Mycroft.

By the time winter was giving way to the vaguest hints of spring, I had put all my concerns and questions to rest unanswered, instead finding a sort of calm acceptance growing in their place.  Even Holmes was beginning to sleep again without the benefit of medication. In my naivety I assumed that the worst was past us and we were to have a leisurely season filled with the usual cases of interests and perhaps a small bit of danger  - which I am self-aware enough to admit trilled me.  I had not anticipated the events of April - nor if I had, I could not have foreseen them making so marked a change on Holmes.

It was at this time that the writer Wilde made the most horrific mistake a man of his nature could, and brought attention to himself in the courts and the press. The nightmare that descended on him, and by extension, the entire community to which he belonged, began to play out in full view of all of London and the civilized world.

Holmes made no comment about the case, but he seemed unduly tense and read every paper with a near frantic attention. I could only guess at what state the rest of the men of that world were in, waiting to see who would be called upon next and have their most private dealings aired before a rapt and reproachful public. I remembered Lestrade’s words, that there were powerful men looking to make an example of a sodomite, and I could only be glad that they had found their victim in someone I knew had no connection to Holmes. As the trial unfolded, more and more names were added and the list of establishments and locations frequented grew. I recognized several of the locations as places I had been sent blindly on the two days I had done the bidding of the two Holmes brothers but no accusations came and I thanked God that no one who I had come into contact with during that time knew me or my association to Holmes. Based on his reaction to the papers there were one or two persons brought into the matter that Holmes recognized, but apparently the Club and those men who frequented it were either powerful enough, or with enough stealth, to evade the net the police had tossed across London. He was safe at least.

On the 25th of May, Wilde was convicted of gross indecency and sentenced.

Holmes put down the evening paper and closed his eyes as if in pain. He stayed that way for several long moments before he stood abruptly and chucked the offending print into the flames of the fireplace with a harsh movement. He stayed there, leaning against the mantle, for a long moment, saying not a word. Finally he straightened but kept his back to me as he exited our sitting room and slammed the door to his private chamber. He did not emerge again for two days.

Mrs. Hudson noticed his foul mood but took it for the typical between case depression that had been known to plague our dear friend. I alone knew the true cause. Yet there was little I could do to ease his pain. I knew it was not the flamboyant writer himself that grieved Holmes, but rather the knowledge that even such a man as he could fall prey to the vulgarities of English law. We both knew how close we’d come to Holmes being in that same dock, facing that same jury. Even Lestrade could not hide his sympathetic expression when next we saw him. Holmes’ tongue was extra vicious as he let loose a diatribe against the ineptitude of the London police, but rather than express his umbrage at such words, Lestrade had simply let Holmes eviscerate the Yard and the entire British legal system until he ran out of words. The two men then stared at each other for several long seconds until Holmes broke eye contact and left the scene, his long coat fanning out behind him dramatically.

That spring was unusually warm and the city had grown stagnant and our rooms congested as if my friend’s depression had extended to the very air itself. In an effort to escape the ever-present gloom that had descended on Baker Street I suggested we retire to the countryside for a holiday. Holmes agreed with little enthusiasm but no complaint and I arranged for us to lodge in a disused cottage in Cornwall. It was well I did, for in the days leading up to our trip Holmes grew pale and a cough settled deep in him that caused me no small amount of concern.

While the case that found us there was indeed interesting, there was a great deal else that transpired during those weeks that I withheld from the Strand. It was on this holiday that Holmes finally laid aside his use of narcotics for good. And it was on this holiday that I gave my curiosity free reign, forever changing both our lives.


	11. Morbid Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> That spring was unusually warm and the city had grown stagnant and our rooms congested as if my friend’s depression had extended to the very air itself. In an effort to escape the ever-present gloom that had descended on Baker Street I suggested we retire to the countryside for a holiday. Holmes agreed with little enthusiasm but no complaint and I arranged for us to lodge in a disused cottage in Cornwall. It was well I did, for in the days leading up to our trip Holmes grew pale and a cough settled deep in him that caused me no small amount of concern.
> 
> While the case that found us there was indeed interesting, there was a great deal else that transpired during those weeks that I withheld from the Strand. It was on this holiday that Holmes finally laid aside his use of narcotics for good. And it was on this holiday that I gave my curiosity free reign, forever changing both our lives.

I must confess that I have always had what my dear mother called a morbid curiosity.  From the time of my earliest memory I have quested after knowledge and experience with a lust for life that frankly frightened my parents and schoolmates. I suppose that was what attracted me to medicine and lured me to the wilds of India and Afghanistan.  I have never been content to only read of adventures, but rather required that I experience the thrill and rush of danger directly.

As we lingered there in our remote cottage this dreaded curiosity, which had on numerous occasions lead me to the most extraordinary undertakings, reared its head.  I suppose that since Holmes was finally returning to his typical erratic self, my mind was unoccupied enough to at last ponder the true breadth of the issues to which he had awakened me.  It was the not the first time that I had wondered what could have lured my friend into that lifestyle, but it was the first time that I let myself ponder how it was that he could go so long without.  He admitted that it had been years since he had gone to his Club and he never brought anyone around to our rooms for such a dalliance, of that I was sure.  While it was entirely possible that he conducted any such affairs at the residence of his paramour, as was my habit when I found myself in intimate circumstances with a lady, I suspected Holmes rarely did so.  In years past I had assumed that such physical desires were simply beyond Holmes, or I should say that he was beyond them.  But something in the way he looked when he’d read the accounts of Wilde and the others made me think it was not so.

Yet, he clearly went without. 

I was no stranger to celibacy, having now twice been a widower and having spent some time after returning from service too injured and broken to think on the opposite sex.  But even with my Mary not long gone from me, I still fell prey to the desires any man naturally would when circumstance has denied him a proper hearth and home.   The great advantage to my increasing years was the ease with which it was to find ladies who’s own ages lent them increased security to carry on limited dalliances without the necessity for marriage, and I had taken full advantage of this whenever the mood struck me.  Holmes knew what I was about and would smile indulgently at my comings and goings.  I believe he and Mrs. Hudson had even had a good laugh at my expense a time or two. 

I could not imagine what it would be like to completely deny that aspect of one’s nature.  It could not be good for one’s health. 

I suppose that most would find my concern for Holmes’ lack of company appalling considering the direction his attentions were want to take.  But in truth it did not vex me, at least not after the initial shock.  I knew that many men found great pleasure in such a relationship, and while the mechanics of it were still somewhat baffling to me – how could such a thing be pleasurable?-  I no longer found it shocking. 

The more my thoughts dwelt on the matter the more curious I became.  How could Holmes go so long without a release of some sort?  Or did he have an outlet to which I was unaware?  Did he…did he have a young lover – one of the Irregulars perhaps?  From the details of the trial and what my readings told me, it seemed to be something of the thing to match a young man with an older gentleman.  Yet I had observed Holmes with the boys of the street many a time and while his manner with them was caring it never crossed into that of a lover.  Even Wiggins himself had said that Holmes did not prey on them in such a questionable manner.  Perhaps they were too young? Mycroft had insinuated that some were recruited as young as 14, and I knew several of the older boys had more than reached that mark.  Yet the elder Holmes brother seemed to disapprove. I was unsure the rules for such things…  although the idea of any child being brought into such an arrangement at that tender of an age caused my heart to constrict painfully.  I saw many a child bride in India during my time in service and the practice had always sat very ill with me.  I could not imagine Holmes doing such, and so I discounted that possibility almost instantaneously. 

If Holmes did have a lover…  Here my mind took to its most morbid of questionings.  I had difficulty envisioning Holmes as the recipient of another’s attentions, yet the idea of him being the aggressor was equally unbelievable.  I had never considered myself to be of a prudish nature and I had always likened myself a rather adventurous spirit in regards to activities behind bedroom curtains, yet the thought of what two men could possibly engage in…  It both excited and repulsed me in equal measure.  I had wondered at it before, in the darkness of my tent in the colonies, when I could hear others engaging in acts that my imagination had little trouble deducing.  And I will confess that I had suffered a similar bout of morbid curiosity then as well, but it had never been so intense a questioning as I now found myself engaged in.  I tried my best to remember that these things were unnatural and that if I wished it I could find myself another lady wife with startlingly ease.  I had no reason to contemplate what actions Holmes might find himself occupied with in the dark of night, and in another man’s embrace. 

Yet I could not escape such thoughts.  With little to occupy my mind once the mystery was done, I found myself caught up in my mental wonderings, while housed in that small cottage and the full weight of Sherlock Holmes’ observational skill trained on me.  I knew I could not hide the direction of my thoughts forever and if I could not curb my natural curiosity he would, in time, catch sight of me and know, in an instant, what frightful turn my mind had taken. 

Holmes is, of the two of us, the individual most inclined to fall victim to boredom, but I must confess that in those days it was I that seemed to find the most difficulty in idleness.  And as my boredom grew so too did my curiosity.  While Holmes occupied himself with the chemical study of the poison that had nearly claimed his life, I found myself occupied with the study of Holmes.  He was in his element, absorbed completely with his work, until a good two days had past after Dr. Sterndale’s departure.  At this point I mistook his continued experiments to be a sign of his continual devotion to that task, when in fact he had completed his observations of the devil’s root and moved on to his observations of _me_.    I would later learn that in the months since Moffit’s scheme had become known to us, Holmes had taken to contemplating my reactions to him, now that I knew his secret.  He feared that I would turn against him, if not in deed then in spirit.

When he was quite sure that was not the case, he began to wonder at my lack of concern.  So while I was quite occupied in my attempt to deduce the nature of him, he was set upon the same course with me.  We could have continued on in that vein for some time, perhaps even the rest of our acquaintance, had my morbid curiosity not gotten the best of me in that quiet out of the way place. 

We had been at the cottage for a little over a week total and there was a late spring storm of considerable strength raging outside our quaint walls when at last I let slip my mask of careful observation and began to openly scrutinize my companion.  Holmes let the matter go on for more than an hour before he put down his notebook and slide and turned to face me.

“Watson, whatever it is that has so consumed you, I suggest you have out with it.  Any more harsh a scrutiny from you and I will start to think you mean to vivisect me.”

I started in my chair and dropped my eyes guiltily.  “Whatever do you mean, Holmes?”  My voice was not as steady as I could have wished.

I kept my eyes lowered but I could see him from the very edges of my vision.  He sat at the table, the remnants of his experiments scattered about him in a riot of scientific enthusiasm and carelessness, the degree of which only Holmes had ever managed to obtain, and openly stared at my lowered head.  His dark eyes were alive with inquiry, and I knew with a sinking heart that I was to be the subject of his next round of careful observation and deduction.  He studied me silently for some time before he stood and moved to the chair across from mine.

“Watson,” he began softly, “I have known you for many years and it does not take a mind as great as the one I posses to deduce that you are engaged in a most fearsome battle with your innate curiosity.  While I have often lamented your lack of scientific drive, I do not doubt that the medical man in you demands answers to questions that you have kept silent.  Your reading materials of late have not gone unnoticed and while I am loath to expose the inner workings of my nature to even you, I cannot in good conscious deny the spark of honest curiosity I see in you.”  His eyes softened considerably and his tone took on the familiar quality of Holmes at jest.  “Come now, Watson.  You have a willing test subject.  Put me to the inquisition, doctor, and I will answer as best I can, propriety be damned.”

I was unsure how to take his offer, but when I finally raised my gaze to his, I found him sincere as always. I could detect a hint of nervousness about his person, as if despite his words he was reluctant to face my questions, but he remained firmly in his chair and I could not deny myself longer.

“Holmes, I do not mean to be inconsiderate,” I began, “but I must confess that while I understand the mechanics, I cannot comprehend…” I trialed off, unsure how to finish the line of thought.

He regarded me seriously for a considerable length of time before he sighed deeply and began to speak.  “I suppose you wish to understand the more subjective of the physical and emotional responses to the sexual acts I prefer?”  He paused, looking for affirmation, to which I could only meekly nod.  “I dare say you must know the particulars of the male anatomy enough to realize that for most men it makes little difference how certain stimuli are come by, only that they are applied when and where desired.”

I could not help my blush and he smiled, his eyes dancing with mirth in the light from the oil lamp.  “Yes, I suppose.” I answered tightly.  “But that is only half the equation.”

“There are rewards for both, I assure you.” He answered evasively.  I could not remember seeing Holmes so discomforted, but I contained my amusement and motioned for him to continue.  “Not everyone cares for it, but,” he stopped and turned away slightly to stare out into the driving rain.  “I’ve always preferred to be on the receiving end, for various reasons.”  I could see his face and neck redden slightly as the words were spoken.

“Whatever for?”  I could not help but ask.

He smiled indulgently but kept his gaze to the window.  “Some might argue that it stems from a lack of affection in childhood. I consider it extreme practicality.  It is far less work and has greater rewards, if handled correctly.”

I made a sound of protest and he chuckled lightly.  “Oh, Watson,” he turned back to me, his embarrassment harnessed under his iron will.  “I am sure you are aware of the marvels of the prostate.”

It was now my turn to flush.  His eyes twinkled as he relished my awkwardness.  “It also provides me with a more…” he paused to consider his words carefully, “…a more complete experience.”  He nodded as if satisfied with that description before continuing.  “I find that there are a number of disadvantages to having a mind such as I possess, not least of which is the difficulty in leaving thought out of action.  At any given moment I am calculating any number of things, observing, forming hypotheses, gathering information constantly.  It is both exhilarating and at times exhausting. It is also rather counter productive to certain activities.  If I am the more, shall we say, _active_ participant then I find my mind prohibits me from turning fully to pleasure.  I seem to be wired differently, Watson, than the rest of the populace.  While I am, of no doubt, above average intelligence, I simply do not have the ability to _enjoy_ without turning off my higher functions of reason.  If I do so, I am incapable of maintaining enough awareness to see to my companions comfort.”  He smiled in a self-deprecating manner.  “You have seen me at any number of concerts. I am sure you have observed that when I am truly engaged with the music I am unaware of the outside world and for a time all that exists is the vibrations of the air and the sounds they convey to the brain.”

“Yes, I have noticed your near total absorption in such things.” I conceded.

He smiled brilliantly. “Of course you have.  And there is the true heart of the matter.  I do find the experience quite intense and in order to reach the desired state I must, as a matter of course, allow myself to be submerged in the experience. This places me into something of a vulnerable state – which I do not do lightly.” His expression turned serious. “There in lies the problem.”

“You do not trust any of the others.”  I guessed. At his nod I continued.  “You do not consider them a danger surely, but nor do you find it acceptable to be so unguarded in their presence.”

“I do not find it possible to be.”  Holmes corrected.  “Once the easy excitability of youth had left me, I found it quite impossible to reach that state with a mere causal acquaintance. I did discover, much to my shame, that certain chemicals were a tolerable substitute.”

“Do you,” I cleared my throat nervously.  “Do you not grow lonely?”

Holmes’ expression took on an unfamiliar quality. “I have not in some time.” His gaze was fixed upon me as he said it and I felt the import of the words sink into me.  I had no words to return him, not for such a clear statement of my place in his regard, so I said nothing.  When I made no move to lash out at his admission, he seemed to relax further into his chair.  “I am continually surprised by you, Watson.”

“Did you think I would find your words so distasteful?”

He regarded me solemnly. “Many men would.”

I shook my head. “I am not many men.  When you have faced such dangers as we have, Holmes, it is not unusual to take comfort in each other’s presence.  I am glad I can provide you some measure of company, even if it is not of a complete nature.”

“I want for nothing.” He stated simply.  “Having you with me in Baker Street, and by my side on such cases as come our way is more than I dared to dream.” He bowed his head.  “During my hiatus I wondered continually after your welfare and I wished for nothing more than to have you returned to me. Even knowing you were married and should not be residing in our rooms even should I return, I drew comfort from the knowledge that when I was able to make my way back to London, you would take up your place again – as biographer and confidant.  It sustained me, Watson- I tell you it sustained me.”

His confession seemed to drain him and he sank down as if a great burden had been upon his shoulders and now had miraculously been relieved. 

I regarded him for a long moment before I spoke.  “Mary loved me dearly.”  I looked away, my shame at the words I was about to utter preventing me from speaking them directly.  “However, I…I did care for her, Holmes.  But I did not love her, not as a husband should.  Your death shook me so completely that I found I could hardly pull my thoughts together to go about my day. My grief was so heavy I fear it made her last days a marathon of dreary evenings and unreturned affection.  When she grew ill, I was in a way grateful.  At last I had a distraction great enough to pull me from the pits of my own mourning.  When she passed…”  I stood up abruptly and it was my turn to stare out the window into the darkness of the storm.  “When she passed I realized how little I really cared for her.  For even though it had been nearly three years since the Falls, her loss was not nearly as great as the continued pain I felt from yours.”

“Watson…”Holmes spoke softly and I startled to hear him so close behind me.  I felt his hand upon my arm but I did not turn.  “Watson, you are too hard on yourself.  I know you were nothing less than a courteous and worthy husband."

“I have buried two wives, Holmes.”  I leaned heavily against the glass.  “I have lost countless comrades in battle and I have killed men whose names and faces I never knew nor cared to discover.  But it is only in these last few months that I have discovered the depths to which I would willing go for another.”  I closed my eyes. “I would have killed him if it had not been for the knowledge that your brother had arranged for the matter to be handled – permanently.”  I could not bear to utter his name but Holmes instantly knew of who I spoke.

Holmes’ hand tightened on my arm.  “You were justifiably concerned for your welfare should he swear against me in court.”

“I was justifiably concerned for you!” I nearly shouted, turning abruptly to glare. He stood very close and his greater height caused me to lean back and tilt my head upwards.  I was shaking slightly as I stood and I do believe that I might have sunk to the ground if it was not for his steading grip on my arm. 

He regarded me seriously, the light from the oil lamp flickered in the darkness of his eyes.  “You are not capable of murder.”

“You have no idea what I am capable of, Holmes, the depths I would sink to if you but asked.” I whispered.

“I would never ask you to go against your conscious.” He replied softly.

“I knew what would happen to Moffit.” I confessed.  “I was the one that had Wiggins find him, and I was the one that confirmed his address and delivered it to Mycroft.  It matters little whether or not I dealt the killing blow; I am equally responsible for his death.  And I am not sorry for it. God help me, if Nock had not revealed all he knew, I do not know what other evils I have would have committed.”  I made to turn away but Holmes forced me back. His dark eyes bore into mine and I could not look away. 

“What happened? You have never said and Mycroft refuses to speak of it.”

I shivered, the image of Nock bound to his chair flashing before my eyes.  “He threatened him.  They had him, bound…”  I drew a shaking breath.  “I had my medical bag and Mycroft insinuated…”

Holmes’ expression grew alarmed. “Mycroft asked you to torture a man?”

“No.” I denied softly. “He did not.  But Nock believed him, and confessed all.  But Holmes, I do not know that I would not have done so, had he not spoken so readily.”

Holmes took me by both arms and held me tightly in front of him lest I attempt to draw away. “You are too good a man for such thoughts, Watson. I know you.  You are no more capable of torture than you are of any other true villainy.”

“I am glad you think so.” I answered without believing in it.

“I know so.” He replied firmly. “You are my conscious, Watson. When I am tempted to some extreme action, you are always there to stay my hand.  When you are elsewhere, I have but to think on you and I know the right and steady course I must take.  Were it not for you, my dear man, I fear to think what evils I would be capable of.”

I felt myself tremble at the darkness I saw hinted at in his eyes as he continued.  “I tell you, there were times, Watson, there were times when I was alone on the continent that I nearly went mad with it.  The vagaries of my fellow man, the horrors that we visit upon each other in the name of wealth, or religion, or pride – I saw so much senselessness and violence that I feared for my mind.  When I caught up to the villains there was rarely a ready court to turn them over to – no Lestrade to arrest and detain them, no jury to sit in judgment over them.  It was no easy task to find a way for justice to be done, and it was only your voice in my memory that stayed my hand.  I have faith in you, Watson, even if you do not have it in yourself. You would not have harmed Nock.  And if you had seen a way past Samuel’s death, you would have saved him for the dock.”

I shook my head, and made to speak, but Holmes’ hand came up to rest upon my cheek. The heavy warmth of it stilled me.

“I know you.” He stated clearly, his eyes heavy with unsaid words. “I _know_ you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My stubborn Victorians just refuse to jump into bed. I'm getting rather annoyed with them. I've actually toyed with the idea of leaving them in this totally in love but platonic sudo-relationship, but I figure you guys would track me down and kill me across cyber-space. If I can find the words that will make it work, next chapter. I'm not sure if I can manage explicit Victorian shagging, but we'll see what we can do.


	12. Slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> "... I have faith in you, Watson, even if you do not have it in yourself. You would not have harmed Nock. And if you had seen a way past Samuel’s death, you would have saved him for the dock.”
> 
> I shook my head, and made to speak, but Holmes’ hand came up to rest upon my cheek. The heavy warmth of it stilled me.
> 
> “I know you.” He stated clearly, his eyes heavy with unsaid words. “I know you.”

The next morning I awoke with a feeling of calmness that had been quite missing since the day Mrs. St. Stephen had laid her case before us.  Holmes seemed equally light of spirit and it was decided that after a hearty breakfast we would make our way to the village via the countryside.  It was a pleasant walk in the damp air and I was reminded strongly of my youth as we passed the quaint cottages of the country folk and observed them at their morning chores.  Despite the conversation of the previous evening there was no tension between us. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised to find that there seemed to be a new level of comfort between us and we both found ourselves frequently reaching for the other – to steady ourselves on uneven ground, or just to convey through a gentle touch of hand to arm some point that words could not adequately express. 

We arrived at the village shortly before the midday meal and I was all to happy to indulge in a pint or two while we waited. Holmes amused himself by deducing the various scandals surrounding any and all of the villagers that happened by our table, or the window in front of which we sat, and I was hard pressed to keep my amusement from drawing undue attention to us. As it was, Holmes’ harsh “ha!” broke the quiet of the inn numerous times, causing several of the regulars to look towards us in irritation.  When at last we were served a most hearty if uninspired meal, I made inquiry into the chance of acquiring a pair of horses for a leisurely ride. Holmes seemed disinclined to argue, and without comment followed me to the stables of a local farmer just outside the village who lent us, for a reasonable fee, what could only be described as two large ponies.  While hardly regal mounts, they would serve our purposes well enough.

We spent the rest of the day wandering the countryside and I confessed more than once how I missed the simple steady movement of a horse beneath me.  Living in London was grand, I admitted, but there was little chance to indulge the country lad within me.  Holmes did not seem to share my fond remembrances if his expression was any indication.  I knew he was country bred, his father a minor squire of some sort, and he was well acquainted with the ways of the English countryside, yet he seemed to take little joy in it. However, he made no true complaint, and in all I believe he enjoyed our outing. 

We returned the horses as dusk began to settle and retired to the inn once more for the evening meal and more of their fine ale.  I will confess that I may have indulged more in the brew than was wise considering the length of our trek back to the rented cottage, but Holmes was particularly mellow and I saw no reason to deny myself such a simple pleasure when we had no case upon which to worry and no danger that might call for my wits to remain unsullied by drink. 

As such, I was rather less steady on my feet than I was comfortable admitting as we began our return journey.  This did not go unnoticed by my companion and Holmes took up a ready position close to my side lest I stumble.  He caught my arm several times to steady me and I smiled gratefully to him. His eyes danced in the weak light of the spring moon and he looked as I’d always imagined the fairies might had they come up from the hiding to try me. 

We both smelled strongly of good clean air, damp earth, ale, and horse. It was a mingled scent I had always treasured and I luxuriated in it as we neared the cottage, my head resting on his shoulder as he managed to somehow keep me on my feet. Holmes fairly poured me into my bed and was considerate enough to remove my boots before he managed to tug the covers over my still clothed form.  I confess I was asleep nearly before he’d completed his task.

It was not yet dawn when I awoke. I stretched, eyes still closed, and turned to lay on my undamaged shoulder.  I opened my eyes slightly as I did so and was started to find Holmes sitting in the chair by my bedside.

“Holmes?” I asked, my voice heavy with sleep.

“Shhh, Watson. It is alright.” He replied softly, his hand reaching for my shoulder, rubbing it slightly, his long fingers catching on the scars through the cloth of my shirt. “Go back to sleep.”

“Is something the matter?” I asked, my eyes already drifting shut at his words. 

I could barely make out his smile in the dim light.  “Not at all. I simply…wished to observe you.” His hand traveled from shoulder to hairline and brushed back the strands that my movements had dislodged.  “I can desist if I am disturbing you.”

“Never.” I mumbled, my sleep-fogged mind not allowing thought to delay my innate reaction.  I believe I may have pushed my head into his hand as it wove through my hair, but my recollection is dim as I was still more asleep than awake.  “You can never disturb me. You are _Holmes._ ” I murmured, my voice slurred with the heaviness of a slumber disrupted. 

Holmes chuckled quietly.  “Sleep, my friend.” He began to hum a low slow tone, something I vaguely recalled from one of the many concerts we had attended together and a piece I had heard him working on variations of in our rooms on more than one occasion. The sound was soothing, and in moments I had returned to my slumber, his hand still caressing my hair and head.

 

 

 

That evening marked a decided turning point for both of us.  Dear reader, it is not to say that I had previously been unaware of my regard for Sherlock Holmes. No, only that I was unaware that there was any truly important aspect of our friendship that was lacking.  It was not until I awoke more refreshed than any sleep I could remember, at least any sleep I had had since Reichenbach, that I began to understand that there were elements to our interactions that were missing.  His silent presence, and his simple touch, had done much to relieve me of the ever present gloom that still clung to the edges of my soul. They had taken up residence there in the mists of those dreaded falls and no matter how often I looked upon his face since, I had always felt the chill of that day echo in his every gesture.  It was only when his hand was resting somewhere on my person that I could dispel that dark memory and that my unconscious mind could truly embrace his return – even now, years later.  His station by my side during the long hours of the night, his hand on my brow as I drifted back into slumber, seemed to have finally slain that age old grief.

Holmes too seemed to have reached some new level of understanding.  While it was not uncommon for us to work arm in arm, or for some small gesture of comfort or companionship to manifest in a grasp of arm or shoulder, he seemed to now require it.  We did not leave the cottage that day, and even though he was engaged in more experiments with that damnable powder, and I with transcribing yet another of our adventures, we seemed to move around the small sitting area like two celestial bodies in orbit of each other.  I did not think to count the number of times we brushed each other in passing, the frequent clasps of arms or the gentle movement of a hand to the other’s back, but it was as if we could not stand to be parted for more than a quarter hour before one or the other would find some small excuse to reach out. 

This process did not feel unnatural.  In fact, it felt so natural to touch and be touched by Holmes that I did not even consider the implications of it.  It was not until we sat with a small bottle of port that evening, a fire dancing in the hearth, that Holmes himself brought it to my attention.

“Invert.” He stated firmly, the word falling heavy in the calm silence of the cottage. 

“Excuse me?” I asked, having not been paying particular attention to the direction of his thoughts.

“I prefer the term invert – over the others.” Holmes supplied, his gaze dark and suddenly moody as he stared at the flames.  “Sodomite has such a harsh and negative connotation given the biblical reference.  Others are vulgar and make it seem as if the only important aspect of my nature is a single act.  At least invert does not attempt to reduce me to a mindless rutting animal.”

“I hadn’t given it much thought.” I admitted.  “Naming a thing does not change it.  In my mind, you are Holmes.  Any other label, beyond perhaps consulting detective or great-mind, are meaningless.”

“Only to you, dear Watson.”  The easy joy of the last few days seemed lost now as he sat there, his mood growing darker by the moment.  “What are we doing?”  He asked abruptly. “Can you tell me that?  What road is it that we are careening down at speeds that make my heart clench?”

I said nothing and he eventually continued, his voice bitter and harsh.  “I cannot, I will not ask anything of you. Yet,” he rubbed tiredly at his eyes.  “Yet, I cannot help but confess that the mere idea of you being absent from me – even for a moment – is causing me considerable pain.”

“I have no intention of going anywhere, Holmes.” I frowned.  “Whatever has given you the idea that I will?”

He stood up quickly and turned away from me to lean against the darkened window sill, his profile a picture of repressed anger and grief in the reflected light of the fire.  “It is not in your nature to remain unattached.  There is a third Mrs. John Watson somewhere out there.” He gestured wildly towards the darkness out the window.  “She will, by providence or design, wander into our lives and she will _take you away_.”  The last words were a near whisper, as if they were pulled unwillingly from the depths of him.

I stood up and moved to his side, my hand going naturally to rest against his back. I felt him tense at the touch, but I did not remove it.  “Holmes, my good man, I have no interest in another wife.  I am far past the point of desiring to start a family and frankly the responsibility of seeing to home and dependents would interfere with my work with you – and I would much rather be available to gallivant across the whole of England on a moments notice than to settle into some mindless practice where I do little more than calm the fears of old women and see to the runny noises of every privileged child that happens upon me.”

He snorted and turned his face further away.  “I do believe you mean that, but yet, I know – as surely as I know the sun will rise – that I cannot hope to keep you.”  He pulled away, his arms falling lankly to his sides, his head lowering as if in shame.  “I cannot bare it.” He whispered.

“Holmes,” I started to speak, some other denial on my lips when he sprang forward and grabbed me, his hands coming up to frame my face. His dark eyes were wild as they gazed into mine and his very person seemed to vibrate with a barely restrained emotion.

“Watson,” He breathed, pulling me closer to him until our foreheads met, his right hand dropping to cradle jaw and neck.  “I fear,” he took a shaking breath.  “I fear myself.”

“Then it is good I do not.” I replied softly, my own hands naturally finding their way to his sides.  “Yet I find this more a mystery than any other we have encountered together.”

He huffed slightly in amusement. “I suppose this is the strangest experience of your many years.”

“Hardly.” I argued.  “It seems as if we are moving finally into place.  As if all our years together have been coming to this point, and yet I do not know what that point is.”

His thumb rubbed gently against my cheek, the hairs of my beard causing the sensation to magnify almost painfully.  “I cannot turn back from this.” He whispered.  “If you do not draw away, I shall not and we will soon go past the point of mere companionship.” His eyes were closed, his forehead growing warm against mine.

“I do not have the strength to withdraw.” I admitted, my voice thick.  “Yet, I do not know what it is that holds me here – or what remaining will bring.”

“Will you let me…?” Holmes questioned, drawing back enough to look into my eyes.  “Will you let me hold you, for a time?”  His gaze seemed to catalog my expression, his hands tightening on me.  “I swear I will take no liberties. Only…” he swallowed with difficulty. “Only so much has transpired and I was so certain that once you knew the truth of me, you would never let me touch you again…” he trailed off.

My grip on him tightened in unconscious response.  “You are exhausted.” I observed.  “Did you watch me all the night?” He nodded and I sighed.  “Then if you insist on such, it will be much better for us both if you did so in comfort.”

“You would consent to let me lie with you?” he asked shakily.

“It’s hardly the first time we’ve slept by each other’s side.” I admonished.  For well we had, on many a case, for not all establishments we found ourselves residing in during our work were blessed with beds to spare.

He nodded but still seemed unsure.  “But not since you have learned my nature.” He dropped his hands away from me, his expression pained.

I stepped back and he seemed to sink into himself taking my movement as rejection.  I could not bear to see him so miserable and quickly reached for his hand.  “Come to bed, Holmes.  I find the thought of you even as far as the next room,” I searched for a word to describe the sudden knot of terror in my soul. “…distressing.” I finished. 

He took  my hand, his expression still unsure, but allowed me to pull him towards the room I had taken as mine.  We did not undress as such, but boots and collars were undone and we slipped fully clothed to lie beside one another. He watched me carefully and when I made no sign of discomfort he reached out to pull me closer until we rested in each other’s arms, entwined like ivy around a solid oak.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got them into bed!
> 
> And speaking of such, I should probably stop writing this at a Scout camp and go to sleep. :)


	13. Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> He took my hand, his expression still unsure, but allowed me to pull him towards room I had taken as mine. We did not undress as such, but boots and collars were undone and we slipped fully clothed to lie beside one another. He watched me carefully and when I made no sign of discomfort he reached out to pull me closer until we rested in each other’s arms, entwined like ivy around a solid oak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to up the rating... so if you wanted only platonic friendfesting, you have been warned. The boys are finally getting into the spirit. Let me know if you think I've managed to hold the tone....

I am not sure when it was that I awoke, but the night was well set and morning a fair way off. Holmes was still tucked into my side, his head resting on my good arm and shoulder, his body pressing against mine causing me to lay at a rather precarious angle. His breath tickled my neck and I could feel a hint of moister gathering against my collarbone from his parted mouth. While my arm was numb from his weight, the true reason for my waking became apparent as my leg and hip twitched painfully, reminding me that I had held this unusual position for far too long. I sighed heavily at my predicament. If I was to move, I would surly wake my companion and as I gazed down at the top of his head, his normally oiled hair a tangle, I could not help the rush of protectiveness that overcame me. I would not disturb him for the world, except I knew that should I continue to lay as I was, I would be good for nothing in the morning, nor likely for the next few days. My old wounds were well healed, but I knew from experience that ignoring their warning pains would only end in greater agony.

I made to pull my arm free, so that I could move to lie fully on my back, but Holmes made a small mewl of protest and his hands clutched at my shirt, keeping me in place. His leg moved to cover mine, trapping me against him.

“Holmes?” I called softly. He shivered and his leg tightened. “Holmes?” I called again, slightly louder this time, my free hand going to gently comb through his hair. “I rather hate to wake you, dear fellow, but I fear I need to change positions.”

I felt him stiffen as he awoke, even though his face was still tucked against my shoulder. I could sense him come to alertness, his eyelashes tickling my skin as he blinked to clear his mind. I continued to card my fingers through his dark hair, the remnants of his hair oil making the strands slick as silk, the light smell of bergamot wafting up to me. I knew his initial thought would be that I was uncomfortable with the intimacy of our position, while in truth I found it to be anything but. I hoped my gentle caress would quiet his fears. It took him a long moment to move and when he drew back I looked down into his eyes to find, as I suspected, a hint a fear.

I smiled softly, my hand moving to his shoulder, my thumb moving slowly against his neck. “I do apologize for waking you.” I said gently. “But I’m afraid that my leg is rather acting up and given our position I could not adjust myself without disturbing you.” It seemed I could not resist touching him, my hand continuing to wander his shoulders and neck as I spoke.

He blinked and took a shaky breath. “Of course.” He murmured and sat up, slowly removing himself from me. I shifted position to lie on my back and flexed my freed hand to return the feeling. He watched me with dark eyes as I stretched my right leg and rubbed at the hip. “Watson, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” I replied, still attempting to work out the pains that had developed from spending so long laying on one side.

“You have said that the bullet that injured you was in your shoulder…” his eyes trialed to my left shoulder then moved down to my hip. “Yet, your leg clearly pains you. I have always wondered why you refer only to bullet in the singular when clearly you acquired more than one injury.”

I could not help but to let out a chuckle at his perplexed expression. “Holmes, you’ve known me for many years and you’ve never bothered to inquire before now? I assumed you had deduced it.”

He frowned. “You freely discuss your experiences in general terms, but I have never heard you converse regarding any particulars from your time in service. Clearly you are not ashamed of your exploits, but you do not seek glory for them either. I have not wished to press you, since all discussions of Maiwand tend to bring on melancholy.”

I closed my eyes. I could not bear to see his expression as I explained, my voice suddenly horse. “Maiwand should not have happened.” I hesitated before allowing some of my anguish to appear in voice and words. “It was a foolish move and Burrows knew it. He should have awaited confirmation from the scouts, but instead moved too quickly. He expected the advanced guard, and instead he met the full Afghan force. His men paid the price for his arrogance with their lives.”

I felt the bed move as Holmes shifted to lean against the headboard. He reached down and pulled me up to rest against his chest, his legs wrapping around me so that I was cradled against him, my back pressed to him. His head came to rest atop mine and I allowed myself to relax against him. I had never been held this way before, and my larger size must have made it something of a sight, but Holmes did not seem bothered in the slightest. I shivered as the memories of those hellish three days washed over me, and his arms tightened.

“You do not have to tell me.” He whispered in my ear, but I shook my head.

“I have no reason not to. Only, I have never really discussed it. Patience?” I answered. I felt him nod, his check rubbing against my hair. I waited until my heart had stopped its frantic assault against my chest before I continued, my voice stronger now that I found myself surrounded by his solid support.

“I was on loan to a regiment not my own and by all rights I should not have been anywhere near the battle. But their field surgeon had come down with a frightful case of dysentery and I was available. So when the 66th regiment moved out, I went with them. The battle was horrendous but we thought ourselves safe in the medical tents. The enemy had managed to capture several of our heavy artillery machines prior, and had made good use of them. What men made it to my table were in pieces and I lost more than I could save – and some I saved most likely wished for death. I was so lost in my operations that I did not notice the bullets as they pierced the canvas sides of our tent until one of my orderlies was struck. A sniper had taken up position on a hill opposite our camp and had leveled his sites on my men. I shouted for assistance, but I could not stop. I was amputating the leg of a young officer and I was at a crucial juncture. If I hesitated he would bleed out. So I ordered the others to take cover and continued as best I could, hoping that my luck would hold. I had nearly finished when the bullet tore through my left shoulder. I felt the bone shatter and then a great searing pain in my right lower side. I'd fallen forward onto my patient. The ruminates of his leg were still upon the table and the jagged shard of what remained of his tibia was driven into my right upper leg, just where it joins my hip.”

Holmes’ hand reached down to rub against the scar tissue on my left shoulder, his other hovering just over my right hip, just shy of touching it. “A single bullet, but two injuries.”

“The infection from the bone nearly killed me.” I answered gruffly. “If it wasn’t for Murray and his quick thinking I’d have bleed to death. When he finally managed to get me back to the main lines, I was at deaths door. When the surgeon saw to my wound he quickly found what appeared to be a remnant of a bullet in my…” I flushed. “In my right buttock. Murray later told me he saw the bullet that tore through my shoulder ricochet off a metal surgical pan that was hanging behind me. Apparently it had enough substance left to embed itself in me a second time. So, essentially one bullet caused three wounds.”

Holmes’ hand finally made contact with my leg as his fingers searched for any sign of the old wound. I hesitated for a moment before I took his hand and guided it to the correct spot. The location was fairly intimate but Holmes seemed almost clinical in his probing assessment, the cloth of my trousers moving against the rough scar as his fingers sought out every detail.

“It barely missed your subclavian artery.” He murmured, his left hand caressing my shoulder while his right remained at the juncture of my leg and hip. “And it is a wonder that the bone did not sever your femoral.”

“It was a minor miracle, but it did cause considerable damage to the muscle and the infection that resulted did not aid me.” I agreed softly. “The bullet was fragmented and the surgeon was unable to recover all of it without doing more damage. I still have several small pieces of it. As you know, the weather does occasionally make the wounds ache, but I also find I have difficulty remaining in one position when I sleep. I cannot lie on my left side due to the shoulder, nor can I lie long on my right due to my hip. Even laying as I am now can cause me difficulty after a time. I am afraid I am not a good bed partner.”

“I had noticed you move frequently in your sleep.” Holmes agreed, his hand still moving over my body, his movements turning from assessment to comfort. “I had assumed your shoulder was partially to blame but I had not deduced the full extent of your injuries.”

I sighed and leaned further into him. “It is rather embarrassing in truth. The shoulder wound looked ghastly, but the injury from falling forward onto my own operating table was the greater. I’m sure that had anyone else from that tent survived I would have been harshly tormented for it. As it was, Murray did not share the details with anyone and I did not see a reason to invite their scorn.”

Holmes huffed, his breath raising my hair. “I fail to see why such an injury should be worthy of scorn. You were wounded saving a patient.”

“Attempting to save a patient.” I pulled away and moved to sit on the side of the bed, my feet finding my slippers where they rested on the cold floor. “He died during the retreat, as did nearly all the men I’d treated. I couldn’t do a thing for them, as feverish and weak from blood loss as I was.”

Holmes moved quickly off the bed, grabbing up my dressing gown and thrusting it into my hands. “I believe this calls for a good brandy.” He nodded as he looked at my pale face. “Should I stoke the fire?” He asked as he turned to exit.

“No.” I replied with a shake of my head and he paused at the threshold of my room. “I am going to change into my nightclothes and go back to sleep.” I drew a shaky breath. “Why don’t you do the same and bring back the brandy?”

His eyebrow rose. “Drinking in bed, Watson?”

I ran a hand over my face and tried to pretend I did not notice it shaking. “Consider it medicinal.”

Holmes did not argue further and I watched him retreat with something close to trepidation. I had just shared a most intimate, if not sexual, embrace with my dear friend and implicitly invited him back to my bed. I stood to change into my night attire and as I folded my suit carefully, I tried to ignore the sharp thrill the thought of being so close to him with only the thin linen to separate us engendered in me. Perhaps it would have been wiser to remain in our daily attire, as we had been when we first retired for the evening – but I had slept the previous night in my shirt and trousers and I had no desire to repeat the experience so soon.

Apparently neither did Holmes, for when he returned with two glasses of brandy he too had dawned a long nightshirt and his warn slippers. His ever-present grey blanket was around his shoulders. He handed me a glass and moved back to the far side of the bed, drinking his own in a smooth movement, the muscles of his throat constricting visibly as he swallowed. He glanced at me once to insure I was serious before he slipped under the covers, laying his tattered blanket down over the end of the bed. I downed the brandy before joining him.

We laid there, shoulder to shoulder, the easy familiarity of early in the evening gone. Finally, I reached out my hand to take his. “What ever is the matter?” I asked softly.

“I do not wish to hurt you.” He turned onto his side to look down at me. “I am unsure what I may do that will not cause you distress.”

I could read in his expression that we were discussing more than what sleeping positions would aggravate my old wounds. I swallowed thickly. “I will tell you if something becomes a problem.”

He reached out a hand to trace my brow and the bones of my face. “Watson, I must confess that while I had intended only to take what comfort I could from having you here, within reach, I find myself infinitely tempted to more.” His gaze raked slowly down my body and I flushed as I felt myself twitch. His eyes flew to the location of the movement and there was little I could do hide it. His breath caught and I saw the very tip of his tongue move to wet his lips. “Perhaps I am not the only one to be tempted.” He moved his gaze back up to my eyes, a clear question forming in their depths.

“I do not know,” I began haltingly. “I do not know what it is that tempts me.” I could feel my cheeks heating. “But I think it obvious that I am not unaffected by this…this tension between us.”

“Does it bother you, that you are affected?”

“I am not a sod…an invert.” I asserted softly, correcting my language for his benefit more than mine. “Yet, I must confess that my curiosity is quite possibly getting the better of me.”

Holmes’ expression remained serious. “Few men willingly identify as such, but I can attest that there are many who enjoy the same activities without considering themselves to be…” he paused for a moment in thought. “I believe the new word is homosexual? A rather clinical term for what is really a matter of the softer emotions.”

I could not help but chuckle. “How often have I heard you rail against such things as matters of the heart?”

His looked turned to that of amusement. “Why Watson, have I not heard you extol their virtues with near equal enthusiasm?”

It was in that moment that I realized how truly taken with this new side of Sherlock Holmes I was. The soft lift of the nearly full moon outlined his form clearly and the gentle spark of humor in his expression made him look eternal- the youth he’d lost in our years of association returning to his eyes and the harsh bitterness of a life spent in hiding melting away before me. I could not help but reach up to take his face in my hand. Something of the nature of my thoughts must have been in my expression for he froze at my touch, his gaze taking on a heated quality.

“Watson?” he asked as my thumb moved against his cheek, the rough stubble a day’s growth making a pleasant if unfamiliar sensation against my palm.

“I have never known you to be hesitant, Holmes.” I answered softly. “Not least when I know you desire something.”

“I cannot be the one to make that decision.” He stated firmly. “I know my mind on this matter, and I think you know that any action on your part –be it friendship or more – will be welcome on my end. I will follow your lead on this, Watson.”

I nodded, dropping my hand away from him. Before he could draw the wrong conclusion, I shifted up till I was slightly over him and leaned forward to press my lips gently against his. He shuddered, a moan breaking from him and his hands went instantly to tangle in my hair, pulling me hard against him. His kiss was nearly desperate, his teeth crashing against me as we adjusted angles. I could taste the brandy on his lips and the hint of his tobacco and soon I was out of breath, panting as he moved me back until he was nearly laid out on top of me. We broke apart, our chests heaving for air and he gazed down at me, a look of abject wonder on his face.

“If I were to die in this very moment I could go to judgment with the sure knowledge that I had, for one instant, been the happiest man alive.” Holmes could not seem to stop touching me, his hands roaming my shoulders as he perched above me. “Watson, if you do not tell me to stop, I fear you will soon have more than your curiosity merited.”

I looked up at him and my heart gave a painful lurch. While I was still most uncertain of the path we were set to travel, I knew with conviction that as long as it was Holmes I was to travel with, all would be right with the world. My own hands moved to settle on his hips, the thin material of his nightshirt rough beneath my fingers. “Teach me?” I asked shakily.

Holmes fairly collapsed onto me, his weight settling onto my legs. “Anything.” He whispered as he leaned forward. I could feel his arousal brush against me and I closed my eyes at the sensation. I felt his lips against my eyelids and shivered. “Let me touch tonight.” He breathed out against my heated skin, his words tickling the hairs on my cheek. “I want to memorize every inch of you.”

I could only nod wordlessly as he moved his hands down my chest, his body seeming to slide down my legs. I heard the fabric of the bedcovers as they slid to the floor. I growled as I felt his teeth nip at the juncture of my neck and I opened my eyes to find Holmes staring down at me, a most peculiar look of fascination on his face.

“Do that again.” He demanded, dropping his mouth down to repeat the gentle bite. My hands flew to his head, holding him in place and a shameful noise issued from me. He bit down harder and I could not help but arch into him, my member straining for contact.

An answering growl of pleasure issued from my companion and Holmes knelt back up and reached for the bottom of his nightshirt, pulling it off and tossing it carelessly across the room. I stared up at his naked form, his cock shamelessly erect and he smiled as he felt my member twitch against his leg in response.

“I do not think you are nearly as innocent as I led Lestrade to believe.” He smirked down at me. “Why Watson, you surprise me.”

I could only smile nervously in response and he chuckled before he leaned down and moved my nightshirt up to bunch around my waist. I flushed with embarrassment as the material caught slightly on my organ but Holmes’ focus was entirely on the reddening length. His long fingers reached out to grasp me and I had to clutch at the bedclothes to keep myself from thrusting into his hand, my eyes falling shut as I tried to restrain myself.

“Both of us will sleep far more soundly if we take care of this.” Holmes advised, mirth clear in his tone. “I’ve dreamt of this.” He murmured, and without warning I felt the wet heat of his mouth close around me.

I am ashamed to say that I spent nearly instantly. I felt his tongue against me, drawing my seed out of me as I spasmed and it took me a moment to realize he had swallowed my essence. He held me there in his mouth until I softened and he gently slid me from his mouth, his face nuzzling into my groin before he pulled away. He crawled up the bed till we laid face to face. His eyes searched mine for a long moment before he leaned in to kiss me, gently this time. I could taste a hint of bitterness that I assumed was my own flavor and I clutched at his shoulders in response.

The heavy weight of his arousal brushed my thigh and when the kiss ended I looked down towards it with slight trepidation.

“You do not have to respond.” Holmes insisted softly. “This is all very new for you.”

“I cannot leave you so unsatisfied.” I answered, my hand still hesitating to reach for him despite my near overwhelming desire to do so.

He brushed my hand away, his own wrapping around himself with a practiced movement. “If you care to watch,” his hips jerked as my eyes snapped down to watch in fascination as he squeezed his member tightly, rolling the foreskin forward and back. “…I do love an audience.” His voice was deeper than I’d ever heard it.

“I am at your disposal, as always.” I murmured, my gaze still trained on his swollen length. He was longer than I, not quite as thick. I had seen many men’s organs over my years in practice but never had I encountered any that were so wantonly erect and I found the sight both fascinating and arousing. Had I not just reached completion I am sure I would have found myself hardening. It did not take Holmes long to reach the point of incoherency and I watched with rapt attention as he emitted, his warm seed spilling over his fingers and splashing my leg and thigh.

He shuddered as he finished, his eyes snapping up to mine as he realized he’d spilled on me, clearing fearing my reaction. I could not hide how affected I was, my flush obvious and my breathing labored. He took in my expression and a lazy smile started to form on his lips. Despite my recent ending, I felt myself twitch as his fingers reached down to smear his essence into my skin.

“Yes, full of surprises.” He murmured, bringing his index finger to my mouth coated in his fluids. He rubbed it softly against my lower lip and I parted to draw the digit in. Our eyes locked and he smiled wickedly. “The game is afoot.”


	14. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> "I do not think you are nearly as innocent as I lead Lestrade to believe.” He smirked down at me. “Why Watson, you surprise me.” - fade to flames, waves crashing, and other euphemistic images that replace graphic fun.

The sun was high when I next returned to wakefulness. It had been some years since I had last awoken to a bed rumpled from nocturnal exertions and I luxuriated in the sensations of sheets against bare skin. Why had I hesitated to take that last step with Holmes? I wondered at my own foolishness in not seeing what lay so plainly between us and while I still wondered at the strangeness of this new physical dimension, I could no longer doubt the reality of it. I was in love with Holmes, and he with I, unless I was greatly mistaken. It was only due to his need for secrecy and my own willful blindness that we had waited so long to discover it. It was only as I turned, intent on wishing my companion a most heart felt good morning, that I discovered I was alone. Holmes had never been one for having a lay in, but I had not expected to find him gone without a word after such a night.

I will confess, dear reader, that my first thought was one of fear – did he regret his actions? But while I would never presume to have a mind as sharp as my dear Holmes, I am far from a dullard and once I calmed my mind enough to think through the events of the previous evening I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Holmes had wished for this. In fact, based on his words, I fear he had longed for such an outcome for some time, assuming that his affections would never be accepted – likely believing that were he to voice such desires, I would flee his company. I had never seen such a look of pure happiness on him as I did the pervious evening and my heart clinched at how desperate and alone he must have felt in the years he’d spent so close, yet so far, from where he wished to be.

So, why then, was he not still abed, enjoying the first morning of this new dynamic in our relationship properly?

I knew no answers would be forth coming as long as I stayed in my heaven of linen and down, so with a good deal of reluctance I stood and prepared myself for the day. The water in the wash basin was lukewarm and the towel fresh. Holmes must have heated the water and brought up a clean cloth for me and I smiled softly at this token of his care. Whatever the matter was, I could not believe he was cross with me.

I dressed for the day and took the steps down to the main floor with a good deal more energy than was my want. At first I did not see him, but as I turned towards the door he bounded inside, his trouser legs splashed with mud. He began a near frantic circuit of the room.

“Watson, I have the paper!” He declared and slammed it down on the table. “I thought you would sleep all day. I’ve been to the village and back and I was delighted to find that they had yesterday’s Times.” He did not meet my eye as he said this, instead focusing his attention on the aforementioned paper, flicking the pages open with a harsh movement of his wrist. “It seems the city has not burned to the ground in our absence.”

“Holmes,” I began, my hand moving towards him. He flinched slightly as he caught sight of me and I hesitated. He kept speaking, reading out inconsequential headlines until I finally took hold of the paper and folded it, placing it out of reach behind me on the side board. “Holmes,” I started slowly. “Are you alright?”

He drew himself up before falling into his chair, fluttering his coat tails out beside him. “Of course, Watson, of course. Nothing like a good morning jaunt to get one’s blood flowing.”

I huffed. “Seems neither of us has been having a problem in that department of late.” I couldn’t help my smile at his rather apparent blush. “Now, why the devil are you behaving as if nothing happened?”

Holmes’ eyes were calculating as he appraised me and I let him do so while I willed every bit of sincerity and feeling into my expression that I could. Finally he dropped his gaze . His voice was soft when finally he spoke. “I do not wish to damage our friendship, Watson. I thought to give you a way out of this…this…whatever it is that has consumed me.” He closed his eyes tightly. “I know well the risks of living such a life and I would not ask it of you nor would I take it as a personal affront should you wish to find new lodgings.”

“That would make it most difficult to repeat the experience.” I replied, my tone light. “Holmes, I am not some blushing society lass. I am well aware of what transpired last night, and what the law would have to say about it. It does nothing to change my great regard for you, nor does it affect my choice of lodgings in the slightest. Prior to this, I knew I would not by choice leave your side again –for wife, practice, or prosperity. If you wish to continue what we have begun, you will find me an apt pupil to these strange new arts, but I tell you that while I lack experience in this particular arrangement, I am well versed in the generalities of pleasure. The only action I take umbrage to is that I awoke alone. Poor form for a first morning, old man, poor form.”

Holmes smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid that is an area to which I am at a distinct disadvantage. This was my first, ‘first morning’ as it were.”

I felt my jaw lower in astonishment. “You mean you’ve never spent the night in another’s bed?”

“No.” he stated with a careless wave of his hand. “Remember that all those who travel in these circles must do so in secret. While there are private rooms in the Club which allow for less stealth than found in most households, they are only designed for temporary meetings. Most men still find themselves with wife or landlord that would take notice if strange men took to keeping odd hours within their house. What fleeting relations are to be had are done quickly, for the most part. It is rare that a situation such as ours is risked.”

“Do you think Mrs. Hudson will take notice?”

“Undoubtedly, should we take to sleeping in the same bed and awaking there.” Holmes’ fingers drummed relentless on the table. “I am sorry if I erred on leaving your side.” He turned to me abruptly. “I meant no disrespect. But I was unsure your reaction and…”

“You wished to provide me with a less embarrassing method of extracting myself from this, should I wish it.” I interrupted him.

“Indeed.”

I sat down slowly across from him. “Rest assured I do not wish to do so.” I replied gently. “I see no reason this should change matters between us, unless it is to draw us closer. I doubt anyone will be the wiser.”

“They will know something if we do not cover that mark.” Holmes smirked and gestured towards my neck. My hand flew to my collar and I stood quickly to look in the mirror that hung by the door. Sure enough there was a large purple bruise just barely visible.

“Good lord!” I proclaimed. “Holmes, you’ve marked me!”

“Ha!” he bellowed. “I rather like it.” He stood up and moved behind me, his arms circling my waist. “Such a shame that I won’t be able to repeat it – at least for some time.”

I tried to adjust my collar but the mark was still visible. “Nothing for it.” I sighed. “I’ll have to put a sticking plaster on it until it heals over.”

“We are due to leave for London tomorrow.” Holmes sighed, his good humor gone. “Whatever will I do once we return to Baker Street?” His gaze took on a near predatory gleam. “I find it nearly impossible to keep my hands off you. Here, where we are quite alone, I may do as I wish – so long as it is not objectionable to you. However, once we return, the rules of society and the ruination their discovery can bring will return. Lestrade already knows more than is safe. What if he deduces this change in us?”

“It will matter little if he does.” I leaned back into his embrace, relishing the closeness our isolated cottage could afford us, any lingering doubts I had harbored burned away in the clarity of his affection. “So long as we do not publicly display ourselves, he will leave well enough alone. He needs you free and willing to do the bidding of the Yard. It is Mrs. Hudson that worries me. She is far more perceptive than first appearance would presume.”

“I know.” Holmes frowned and pulled away. “She will take one look at you and know that you were engaged in some amorous activity. I fear it will not take long for her to deduce who it was that took such liberties with your person.”

“Then we had best confess all to her.” I stated grimly. “Better if we come clean of it and beg her understanding rather than risk her wrath for attempting to deceive her. She forgives you nearly everything, but it hurts her deeply when you keep secrets unnecessarily.”

Holmes collapsed onto the settee, flinging his arm across his eyes. “Oh, Watson. Your charming optimism is both refreshing and utterly alarming. What do you propose to do when she pitches us onto the street and calls for the constable?”

“Have you so little faith in her as that?”

Holmes sat up slowly to regard me, his expression dark and serious. “Watson, listen carefully to what I am about to explain to you. If we are to continue to behave as we were last evening, every precaution must be taken that this remain secret. No matter how trustworthy the individual, or how long and well stood your friendship, you cannot trust to their good natures in this. If you mean to do this, to join me in my outcast state, you will become a hunted thing – a freak among men. Every move, every glance, could betray us. It is no light matter. And while I trust Mrs. Hudson with my life, “ he reached forward and took my hands in his. “I do not know if I can trust her with this.”


	15. Mrs. Hudson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:  
> Holmes sat up slowly to regard me, his expression dark and serious. “Watson, listen carefully to what I am about to explain to you. If we are to continue to behave as we were last evening, every precaution must be taken that this remain secret. No matter how trustworthy the individual, or how long and well stood your friendship, you cannot trust to their good natures in this. If you mean to do this, to join me in my outcast state, you will become a hunted thing – a freak among men. Every move, every glance, could betray us. It is no light matter. And while I trust Mrs. Hudson with my life, “ he reached forward and took my hands in his. “I do not know if I can trust her with this.”
> 
> For those of you who asked how to get to Granada's version, apparently the episode these last few chapters was borrowing from, Devil's Foot, is up on YouTube:  
> http://youtu.be/DCxEbYUt26I It is in 6 parts. The only significant change I made was to move it from an "inn" to a rented cottage for obvious reasons.

Our last hours in the cottage were tense. It was not that I regretted our actions – no, far from it. But the sure knowledge that with the return to London our new found closeness would be, by necessity, harshly curtailed plagued us both. We were in the first giddy stages of a new awakening of romance, and I found it difficult to be away from him, constantly seeking his touch. Holmes had never been particularly tactile, but now I sensed an equal desperation on his part to be as near to me as possible. We were still unsure of ourselves and despite the desire to do so I could not bring myself to embrace him or set my lips to his – not in the light of day with his experiments and my papers scattered about reminding me of the realities of our everyday lives. The harsh warning he’d given me rang in my ears and caused my heart to shudder. This change felt too private, too secret, to risk even when I knew we were well and truly alone. As night descended once again we retired without discussion to my room and with shaking hands we slowly undressed each other.

It was perhaps the single most unusual experience of my life – and the most memorable. Every touch was done in near reverence, as if we both could not believe what data our eyes and hands were providing. Holmes’ eyes were bright in the dim light of the single candle and when finally I gave in to my impulse to kiss him I thought I tasted a hint of salt upon his upper lip. 

“Watson…John…” he murmured against my lips and had we been younger men I am sure we would have fallen onto each other as wantonly as beasts. Yet, there was something near magical in the hush of that cottage that stilled our frantic need for one another and distilled it into a slow and steady burn. I was not yet ready to explore the full range of Holmes’ experience, but I found that his hand alone could bring me more satisfaction than I had dreamed possible. He taught me how to return that pleasure to him with whispered words and gentle guidance until we both lay exhausted and spent, our trepidations forgotten in the heady aftermath of our coupling.

He was watching me when the sun roused me. Unashamed in his nakedness he lay spread out beside me, his member rising with the sun. “Sherlock…” I breathed softly, reaching for him and bringing our bodies back into alignment. I kissed him with all the passion my sleep-fogged mind could conjure and he moaned against me, his hand already moving towards me. I am sure that had not a knock sounded upon the door we would have continued on, prolonging what gratification we could as we counted down the minutes to our departure. 

Holmes ended our kiss with a reluctant sigh. “Most likely the vicar with the cart, set to take us back to the station as promised.” I nodded and watched with regret as he stood and pulled on his clothing, running his hands through his hair to return it to something of a presentable state. He walked to the window, throwing it open to see who it was on the walk. 

“Ah, vicar!” he called out cheerily, no hint of our activities coloring his tone. “You are early. I only just awoke and I’m afraid Watson has yet to make an appearance. Give me a moment and I will meet you downstairs.”

“Morning, Mr. Holmes!” The vicar returned. “Do take your time. The train isn’t arriving for some while, but I thought you might enjoy a slight tour of the countryside prior to your departure.” 

“Quite!” Holmes agreed. “I’ll rouse the good doctor and we shall join you shortly.”

He turned away from the window, closing the shutters before leaning his head against them heavily. “Horrible timing, the clergy.” He muttered.

I chuckled, finally composed enough to attempt standing. I lowered my voice so it would not carry down to our guest. “We’d best gather the last of our things and rough up the second bed.” I grimaced at the evidence of our actives that lay on the sheets. “We made rather a mess.”

Holmes turned to glare at the offending linen. “In my euphoria at at last having you at my disposal I neglected to take that into consideration. Little we can do at this point other than to strip the beds and hope the washing woman does not look too closely.”

I dressed quickly and left Holmes to finish the deed. I meet the vicar at the door and we chatted about inconsequential matters while I finished packing away the last of our belongings from the ground floor. I could hear Holmes moving around the bedrooms on the second level and hoped he was nearly finished. This sort of subterfuge was new for me and the vicar’s easy trusting nature was an irritant and a source of no small amount of guilt for deceiving the kind man so. 

I heard Holmes on the steps and turned to greet him only to have my voice catch in my throat in shock. He was carrying a large bundle of bed linens down the stairs in full view of the vicar. I eyed him in fear but Holmes only smirked at me over the pile in his arms before tossing them carelessly into the corner of the sitting room. He turned to the vicar and nodded in greeting before addressing me. “Watson, I took the liberty of rounding up all the wash. It’s rather clear that the poor soul hired to do the tidying between guests is far from a young woman and must find the stairs a challenge.”

The vicar laughed and slapped his knee. “Mr. Holmes, you never fail to amaze. How did you know the Widow Eastman was tasked with the daily chores of the place?”

“I observed her, I’m afraid. No deductions required.” Holmes answered back, his tone toward the vicar the most friendly I had heard yet. “She inquired after our needs every other day or so but we were never introduced. Watson and I were often out when she came and we communicated through scribbles for the greater part. I noticed her pronounced shuffle and deduced a rather serious case of arthritis. It was no matter to save her a trip up the stairs.” He brushed his hands together as if knocking dust from them. “Well then, if Watson is quite done here, I believe I have the last of our bags set from upstairs. If you could load these, good doctor, I will retrieve our cases from the rooms.”

I readily agreed and within moments we were seated in the loaded cart and the vicar was snapping the reins. Our quick jaunt through the countryside was dreadfully dull but Holmes seemed in a much-improved mood and managed to entertain the vicar with a few of our more interesting cases that had, for various reasons, not been submitted to the Strand. By the time we reached the train station I was nearly overcome with a headache from the stress of it.

Our train car was empty save the two of us and once we were seated and the train well underway Holmes drew the curtains and snapped the lock into place. He moved swiftly to me and caught me in a firm embrace. “The first deception is the hardest.” He murmured against my hair as he held me firmly. “It will get easier, John. I swear it. Clergy give most of us a twinge of guilt but I assure you that with practice the feeling subsides. Or so I’m told. I’ve never held much concern for the opinion of the church myself.”

My hands shook as I pulled him tighter against me. “It was less guilt than an unreasonable fear that he would simply look upon on us and know.”

Holmes pulled away to cup my cheek. “You are delightful.” He smiled at me. “Once you are more comfortable with this, with me, I will tell you how to know who it is safe to trust and who it is not. I have good reason to believe that vicar would have been more sympathetic than most.”

I raised in eyebrow in disbelief. “Are you certain?”

“Nearly.” He took a deep breath and stretched out his long form to rest his feet on the far seat. “Do you doubt my powers of deduction now that you know I failed to see the hidden depths to you?”

“Considering that I was unaware of them, I can hardly hold you accountable for neglecting to chart them.” I replied. “Besides, I am rather certain that you are the exception to my nature, rather than a catalyst for a transformation of it.”

“Romantic.” He scoffed, his eyes dancing in mirth to dispel the harshness of his tone. He leaned back again and closed his eyes. “Oh, Watson, while I shall miss the privacy of our little cottage nest I long for the bustle of the city. I require stimulation to keep my faculties sharp and it has been days since our last case!”

“Knowing Lestrade he will be at our door within an hour, some token nonsense to welcome us back.”

“Hahum.” Holmes agreed with a soft chuckle. “Yes, you are likely right. No matter. I am well rested and the malaise that has plagued me has been well and truly excised.” He opened one eye and regarded me meaningfully before closing it again. “We shall see how well I do without my seven percent.”

“Are you well and truly done with it?” I asked softly.

He opened his eyes and regarded me seriously for a long moment. “Yes, yes I am, John.” My Christian name still sounded foreign on his lips, yet I welcomed the new familiarity of it. “I believe you are right and it was impeding my health, but more importantly it distressed you – and that, dear friend, is unacceptable.”

I smiled in relief and he answered me in kind. 

The rest of our journey was uneventful and we arrived back in Baker Street light of heart. Mrs. Hudson greeted us at the door with her usual good humor. I noted that she seemed to be suffering from the change in weather and vowed to see if there was any small thing I could do to ease her way. Our dear friend and landlady was no longer a young woman, her hair now as white as new fallen snow and her back showing the bend of age. The obvious physical signs of time had not diminished her whit, however, and we had barely settled in our rooms when she arrived with the tea tray and eyed us both carefully.

“Alright,” she stated firmly, her tone broaching no argument. “Whatever have you done this time?”

Holmes’ expression instantly transformed to shocked innocence. “Whatever can you mean, Mrs. Hudson?”

She frowned and crossed her arms, an alarming expression of restrained irritation taking over her. “Mr. Holmes,” her tone clipped and firm as if speaking to a wayward child, “I had three younger brothers, raised two sons, and was married to a man of little self restraint, God keep their poor souls. I know when two boys are keeping secrets. Now, whatever it is, you’d best come out with it before Dr. Watson faints on us. If there’s a danger about to set itself upon us, I’d rather be prepared.”

Indeed, I had grown frightfully pale at her words. I looked to Holmes in the hopes he knew what words would pacify her. I watched as the two of them faced each other, her frail tiny form upright and unmoving, set against his great height and imposing visage. It was an epic battle of wills and had I not been there to see it I would never have believed it. I had seen Holmes stand up to the worst of London’s criminal element, yet this one small woman with no more than the weight of her stare reduced Holmes to a sorrowful state. He did not confess, but I watched as he shrank in upon himself until he could hold her gaze no longer.

“Mrs. Hudson,” he said slowly as he careful sank down into his chair. “I fear I am unable to give you the information you seek and I beg of you to leave it at that. I assure you, neither Watson or I are in danger at present.”

She did not seem to believe him and she turned towards me. I could not form words to answer her and could only stand mute as she contemplated me. I saw the instant her eyes caught sight of the sticking plaster I had used to cover the mark Holmes had left on my throat. The light of comprehension burst upon her and she turned quickly to stare at Holmes.

“By the devil, it’s finally happened.” She murmured, her hand going to her throat in shock. 

Holmes stood quickly and caught her as she began to sink to the floor, guiding her instead to the divan. She clasped his arms tightly, her head lowered. I moved to her side, intent on providing aid. When I reached her, she released one hand from Holmes and grabbed at me, holding onto us both for dear life. When she raised her head I was shocked to see a broad smile and tears of mirth in her eyes – her entire frame shook from her effort to restrain her amusement.

“Oh, I thought you’d never admit to it.” She laughed good-naturedly at our shocked expressions. “I’m not a fool, sirs. Any woman with sense could see what lay between you, a far sight better than either of you I should think.” She let go of our arms to pat us both on the cheek.

“Mrs. Hudson,” Holmes shook his head, a small smile of affection taking shape. “You may be my match.” 

“Oh, you.” She chuckled, touching his arm tenderly as if she could convey more with the gesture than she could with words. She smiled softly at him, exchanging wordlessly all the accumulation of emotion she felt for that remarkable man until at last she drew herself up and seemed to reach some sort of decision. “Right. I’ll be seeing to your dinner, gentleman, and let you get settled after your journey. Tomorrow we can discuss how this will affect your lodging. We will be needing to find you a more accommodating bed for starters, I’d wager. That one you have can’t be considered more than a cot, Mr. Holmes. Not proper at all for two grown men.”

She nodded to us both before fairly gliding out the room, her spirits high after having astonished us both so completely. 

I turned to Holmes, my mouth agape in wonder to find him staring after her, as shocked as I had ever seen him. I smiled in response and fetched him a cup of tea before taking up my seat across from him. “Well,” I said slowly, “I did advise you to tell her the truth, old man.”

He tried to form a response but could make no sound. He floundered for a moment before shaking his head and taking the cup from my hand. “Yes, indeed.” He took a sip. “Watson, I find that the last few weeks have proven that I am not as infallible as I once thought. It is a most humbling experience.”

“So where does this leave us?” I asked gently.

A look of astonished delight settled upon him. “I believe,” he started slowly, his enthusiasm forcing the words to pick up speed as he went on, “I believe that if you have no objection, we should do as Mrs. Hudson suggests. I think your room would make a splendid cohabitation and we could make good use of mine for additional scientific equipment…” He trailed off, a far off look on his face and I watched in amusement as he stood and crossed over to his door and began to pace out the interior. “We’ll have to make some sort of arrangement in case another of the detectives at the yard decides to become bothersome. It wouldn’t do to have them discover only one bed in the rooms and two of us.” He turned around to survey his chamber critically. “However, if we relocate the dressing table and mirror, we’ll have to leave my clothing down here for appearance’s sake…”

I set down my own tea and joined him, leaning against the door and watching in amusement as he continued to plot out the best way to accomplish his charade while still allowing for an expansion of his private chemistry lab. He did not stop to ask if I objected to his plan and as in most things I was content to follow his lead without question. When he took up his measuring rod and began to draft a layout for a new custom chemical cabinet I took my leave and went to find our dear landlady to thank her for her generous and unexpected indulgence. 

I found her in her kitchen, humming happily to herself as she sifted flour for a cake. I joined her, as I had been known to do when Holmes was intent on an experiment and I found the confines of our rooms too odorous or cramped to remain in them. I pulled on the large spare apron she kept for me and took up the spoon to mix for her. She patted me affectionately on the arm in welcome and handed me the ingredients one by one. I suppose most would find it unusual that I enjoyed such domestic activities, and in the company of our landlady, but in truth I had spent much of my early youth at my mother’s side and as the younger son, and having no sisters, it was left to me to aid in the house while my older brother Harry was left with exterior chores. Working alongside Mrs. Hudson always reminded me of those happy days and gave me a sense of peace. My poor wives never understood the inclination, and Mary had never quite gotten use to the sight of me at the stove, but Mrs. Hudson had only ever welcomed the company. 

We did not speak until the batter was in the pan and transferred to the heated oven. She sighed in contentment as she closed the door. She peaked into the pot of stew that rested on the top of the stove and nodded in satisfaction. “A simple enough dinner for your return, but the cake shall make up for it.”

“We hardly require extravagance.” I assured her warmly. “I prefer your simple stew over a fancy roast any day.”

“Shameless flatterer.” She blushed and took up a seat at the warn table. “Now, I know Mr. Holmes will never admit to the matter, but I trust you know me well enough to confess the truth of it.”

“It does not shock you?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Hardly. I’ve lived in London for most of my life, Doctor. I’ve seen my fair share of strangeness. I suppose, I’ve come to accept most things as they come. Even those beggars Mr. Holmes lets come round are not half as bad as I’d once thought and I dare say that poor boy that stayed here did much to change my heart. I’ve known Mr. Holmes had feelings for you since before you were married and I thought, well I thought you left to escape it. Then, after that nasty business with the Professor and you came back, well, I hoped for his sake you’d accepted him. But nothing seemed to change and you two just went on as you were and I started to doubt myself. These last few months, with all the papers talking about that poor Irish gentleman, I could see the strain in him. Worrying it might have been him, he was. You right there by his side, worried for him and not for yourself. It broke my heart.”

She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron and I took her hand. She smiled at me and patted my arm in return. “He’s like a son to me, you both are.” She confessed tearfully. “Now that both my boys are gone to St. Peter and my husband but a memory I’m afraid I’ve grown rather attached to the pair of you.”

“And we to you.” I admitted softly. “I know Holmes doesn’t speak of such things, but I’ve come to understand his childhood was not a cheerful one and spent mostly away at school. I know he thinks of you as the mother he never really had.”

“If I’d known he’d carry that dreadful blanket I made him around everywhere I’d have used a more cheerful yarn.” She shook her head in wonder. “Poor boy.”

“You made him that horrid thing?” I asked in shock.

“It was scraps of yarn. He was always shivering and at the time you both were hard pressed to make the rent let alone purchase spare blankets. I meant it only as a general kindness.” She shook her head. “I didn’t even wrap it properly. I didn’t realize he had so few presents in his life that he’d cherish it so. I’ve darned it so many times it’s frightful.”

“My little cousin James used to drag a blanket behind everywhere he went.” I chuckled. “Of course, he was four at the time.”

“Don’t tease him.” Mrs. Hudson admonished. “He tries, bless him, but for all his sharp whits he’s quite ignorant of everyday things. He likely doesn’t know how others think of him, carrying that about with him whenever the mood takes him. If he draws comfort from it, so be it. I don’t want you making him self-conscious of it.”

“Never.” I promised. 

She stood up and started to tidy the kitchen and I rose to assist. “So I take it he’ll be moving up with you?” She asked, no hint of discomfort at the idea. “I imagine he could make good use of the extra room on the lower level for all his experiments.”

“He had the same idea.” I admitted. “However, we will have to leave some things in place since we cannot risk anyone questioning his sleeping arrangements.”

“Oh, if they do just imply that there’s a reason he’s stayed on as my lodger all these years.” She winked at me and I couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh.

“Mrs. Hudson! Risking your reputation?”

“Dear, at my age having your reputation tarnished is a complement!” She fairly giggled. “Now let me finish up here and you go and assure that man up there that I’ve no care about what happens in the dead of night on my third story.” She let out another surprisingly youthful giggle. “And if he makes a fuse about it and what will happen in the future, tell him I’ve had it all arranged for years. If something were to happen to me, Baker Street goes to him. The papers are all drawn up.”

I stared at her in shock. “Mrs. Hudson, you needn’t leave us your home. What of your family?”

“There’s only my sister Agatha and she’s her own property as you know. She needn’t inherit mine. I’d rather it go to my boys.” She reached up to pat my cheek affectionately. “Now, run along, Doctor. Don’t keep that wonderful daft man waiting. Ring for dinner when you’re ready for it.”

I nodded mutely and climbed the stairs towards Holmes much lighter in heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. All good things must come to an end and this one has just about run it's course. Thank you all for staying with me and I'll try and get the last chapter up before the close of the weekend. I always hate writing the last chapter, it's like saying goodbye to a dear a friend.


	16. Elementary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Sherlock Holmes:
> 
> “Dear, at my age having your reputation tarnished is a complement!” She fairly giggled. “Now let me finish up here and you go and assure that man up there that I’ve no care about what happens in the dead of night on my third story.” She let out another surprisingly youthful giggle. “And if he makes a fuse about it and what will happen in the future, tell him I’ve had it all arranged for years. If something were to happen to me, Baker Street goes to him. The papers are all drawn up.”
> 
> I stared at her in shock. “Mrs. Hudson, you needn’t leave us your home. What of your family?”
> 
> “There’s only my sister Agatha and she’s her own property as you know. She needn’t inherit mine. I’d rather it go to my boys.” She reached up to pat my cheek affectionately. “Now, run along, Doctor. Don’t keep that wonderful daft man waiting. Ring for dinner when you’re ready for it.”

I found Holmes sitting on his bed, a deep frown marring his visage. His sketchpad was tossed carelessly to the side, his scrawled specifications for the cabinet half done. Years of experience sharing rooms told me that some dark thought had taken up residence in that magnificent brain of his and if I did not act quickly to dispel it, there would be a swift decent into one of his infamous black moods. Rather than finding this change disturbing, I experienced an odd clenching of affection within me, as well as relief. Despite all the alterations in our relations to one another, he was still Holmes and I was still Watson. His moods would still shift as unpredictably as the ocean and I would, as always, seek to ride them out as smoothly as possible – a lone liner adrift on the cruel yet majestic ocean that was Sherlock Holmes.

“Holmes, we’re to have cake with dinner.” I cheerfully informed him, hoping that the treat would entice him back to the present. When he made no response, I sank down to kneel by his side, my hand going to his knee. Oh, how I’d longed to touch him like this, to offer comfort whenever he looked so forlorn, and for the first time in our long acquaintance I felt it was truly my right to do so. “Sherlock? Whatever is the matter?”

“Watson…John,” he corrected, turning slowly to look at me. “I must admit that while I do not regret the surprising turn our relationship has taken, I do find myself overcome with the change of it.” His words were blunt, as always, but I smiled softly at him, knowing he did not mean them harshly and nodded for him to continue. “I had resigned myself to a life bereft of companionship years prior to making your acquaintance. While our friendship has been a blessing to me, I must confess that I have often found it difficult, near painful at times, to have you with me and yet not _with_ me. As I stood here, in this room I have come to know so well, I thought I must have gone mad and it was some fever of the brain that convinced me of your acceptance rather than reality. To have Mrs. Hudson so blithely accept my nature, without question or condemnation…”

I ran my hand soothingly along his leg and leaned in closer to his side. “I cannot imagine what it has been like for you all these years. The fear and shame you must have harbored. I wonder that you did not parish from the sheer despair of it.”

“It was a close thing.” Sherlock admitted softly. “The Work saved me, as it always has, and as I pray it always will. When on a case I have little care for self and I was able to forget for a time. I am not an emotional man, as you well know. But in the dead of night, even I feel the crush of loneliness from time to time.”

“You shan’t bare the burden of hiding alone, not now, not as long as I draw breath.” I vowed. “It has been a slow thing, the progression of this affection between us. But from the moment I first set sight on you, I knew I would follow you to the ends of the earth. Perhaps that is the truest definition of love. I cannot say that what I feel for you is the same as what I felt for Mary, or for my first late wife. In truth, it is so much greater for the depth to which it has entwined around my soul- such that the thought of loosing you again is as the thought of death.”

He reached down to pull me into an awkward embrace, his chin resting solidly upon my head. “Oh John, you’ve a touch of the poet in you. I worry that this new secrecy will be too much for you to endure.”

“Outside yourself there are only two other living souls to whose opinion I care to listen.” I leaned into his embrace. “Mrs. Hudson has already expressed her consent to this, to the degree that I fear she reminds me terribly of a proud mother-in-law and you her newly married child. And Lestrade may not know that we have finally crossed into the realm of lovers, but he knows the truth of you. I do not fear him knowing that I too have particular peculiarities of desire. I am sure he will deduce it, eventually. And while it is likely he will at first be uncomfortable with the knowledge he will eventually come round.”

“Perhaps it is just years of having so diligently hidden this that cause me to question such a miraculous turn of fate.” Holmes murmured into my hair. “I wish to believe that all is well, that we are truly safe and secure in our Baker Street heaven. I cannot help but fear that it is delusion.”

“What can I do to prove the reality to you?” I shifted away slightly to gaze into his grey eyes. “Tell me, Sherlock, and I will instantly comply.”

He peered deeply into me and took his time forming a response. “John,” he spoke hesitantly, “Did you never doubt yourself? I cannot be the first male to catch your attention – I do not believe it possible that you have suddenly developed this predilection and only for me.”

I felt heat color my cheeks. “In truth?” I whispered and at his nod I drew away slightly until I sat on the floor facing him. “I must admit that I have, on occasion, experienced a…a marked interest, if you will, in another man. However, I find the female form equally, if not slightly more, appealing when considered in the general rather than the specific. Given the difficulty in acting on the first, and the ease of the other, I never dared to deviate from the expected. Since I have always enjoyed the company of women, I saw no need to investigate the fleeting thoughts that would come to me.”

“You suppressed it.” 

“No.” I disagreed quietly and struggled for the words to explain. “Sherlock, you are perhaps the only person I have ever cared for this deeply. It was easy to ignore since it never was more than a passing physical reaction, until now.” I reached out for his hands and he let me take them, confusion still present in his expression. “Yes, I married. But what else is one to do? We got on well, enjoyed each other’s company, and since it is entirely impossible to take up with a woman casually without risking her reputation and thus her very existence, I married. They were happy, and I was content, and it was enough. But it was never my greatest joy, I am afraid. It was never a great love affair, or earth shattering passion. It was simple, comfortable, like a pair of well warn slippers.”

Holmes shook his head. “I fear what your Mary would do to you if she heard you refer to her as a pair of house slippers.”

“Actually, we joked of it frequently.” I admitted with a chuckle. “She despised those penny novels with the dreadful romances. She thought what we had was ideal – a solid sort of partnership. I believe she did love me, and I cared very much for her, but in the end it was rather more about our friendship than any great love affair. Our marriage bed was hardly more than using one another rather than our own hands.” I blushed at the admittance.

“So I am your new slippers?” Holmes raised an eyebrow.

I shifted onto my knees and then up to the bed to sit beside him. “Hardly – more a good smoking jacket.” He smiled softly at my joke. “I do not have words to explain, not well at least.” I clarified. “The writer in me yearns to attempt, but I know I should fail. No, Holmes, you may be equally as familiar to me as slippers or jacket, but I have never felt such a desperate need for footwear or cloth.” I stroked his hand gently. “And while I’ve lost the stamina of youth, I dare say you’ve returned my passion to me. While we have as solid a partnership and friendship as any two souls may, it is sharpening that aspect between us rather than tempering it. It is you, dear fellow, that has turned a mere glimmer of desire into a raging fire of passion. For the first time in my life I find myself consumed with the need for another, so much so that I must confess I am barely functional in any other regard. I am in love with you, dear fellow, and I fear I have been for some time.”

“Love.” Holmes said the word with a mocking tone that I knew well. “Love.” He repeated it more softly, as if turning the word around for reconsideration. “I suppose that is what the populace would call this. It certainly does not meet the definition popularized by novels or the great romantic poets. Yet, I have grown so accustomed to you that I begin to miss you when we are parted for even a few hours. I turn to look for you, to address some concern or comment your direction, and I am at a loss when you are not there. Your touch brings me solace as well as passion. This is both quiet and deep; roaring and epic…” he turned abruptly, his hands going to frame my face, his eyes wild. “John, I think I love you.”

“Of course you do, Holmes.” I pulled us closer together, resting my head against his. “It’s rather elementary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for such wonderful feedback and encouragement as I wrote this. PP was my first foray into Holmes fiction and I'm very glad you enjoyed it. Thank you ever so much!


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